


Faintest, Slimmest, Wildest Chance

by keeptheotherone



Series: Eighth Year [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, POV Minor Character, POV Multiple, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 23:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 119,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2087820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeptheotherone/pseuds/keeptheotherone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry left Ginny to keep her safe, but Hogwarts during Voldemort's reign was anything but. Although they both survived, each bears scars from their year apart. The end of a war and the death of a brother don't make for an easy romance, but as long as there is the faintest, slimmest, wildest chance.... The Weasleys gained and lost a member in one night. Will they ever be whole again?</p><p>The first of three fics covering the first year after the war; this one focuses on Harry and Ginny's summer as well as the Weasleys' recovery as seen through the eyes of Bill and Charlie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Rated mature for sexual content (mainly in later chapters), references to violence (including sexual assault), some alcohol abuse, depictions of depression, and a smattering of language (hello--Weasley boys!).
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, his friends, enemies, future family, Hogwarts, its inhabitants, the Burrow, or anything else invented by J. K. Rowling.
> 
> The title is a quote from Harry's thoughts about Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets: "He couldn't not go, not now they had found the entrance to the Chamber, not if there was even the faintest, slimmest, wildest chance that Ginny might be alive." (Rowling, J. K. _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_. Bloomsbury: London, 1998, p. 222.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter I deviate slightly from traditional canon in one instance, but I could find nothing to contradict my idea and thought it would be interesting to explore. Just so you know that I know it's not the usual ;) I will update every week on Wednesdays. Also, I'm new to this tagging business, so if I need to add/change anything, please let me know.

Minerva McGonagall surveyed the Great Hall. She had just replaced the tables, but everyone still stood in groups. A long line wove from the center of the room towards the front and curved beneath the windows as everyone waited to speak to Harry.

Harry. The man who had defeated Lord Voldemort, permanently this time, right in this very room, just a short while ago. She could no longer see him, surrounded as he was by jubilant and grateful admirers, but she didn’t really need to. Messy black hair, slim build, neither tall nor short; just like his father. Sometimes she would get a glimpse of Harry in the hallways and think, just for a heartbeat, it was James. She sighed. She remembered receiving the news of James’s and Lily’s deaths, Harry’s survival, Voldemort’s retreat. She remembered traveling in her Animagus form to Privet Drive, sitting on the wall outside, watching Harry’s family. Meeting Dumbledore—

Minerva pressed a hand to her chest, hardly realizing she was doing it. Nearly a year later, the death of her long-time friend and colleague remained a hollow ache. Turning away from the crowd in front of her, she searched for something to distract her from the memory of Dumbledore’s murder. Her eyes fell on the platform that normally housed the head table. Its table was still gone, replaced with rows of wounded waiting to be evacuated to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. So many pupils. Despite the efforts of the Order of the Phoenix, despite her efforts, it had happened again. War, curses, death, but this time, it involved the children. Death Eaters teaching at Hogwarts! She had done her best to protect her pupils this last year despite being thwarted at every turn by Severus Snape (Minerva refused to think of the wizard who murdered Albus as Headmaster), but she had failed. Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood sent into the Forbidden Forest at the full moon. First years locked in the dungeons. Virtually all her Gryffindors (and not a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs) claiming they had tripped, or walked into doors, or fallen down stairs. The Muggle-born pupils gone, disappeared. 

So many pupils. Lavender Brown, attacked by a werewolf. Colin Creevey … she had ordered Dennis to go home, but there had been nothing she could do about seventeen-year-old Colin, and now he was dead. Fred Weasley— funny, sweet, maddening Fred, only a few places over. George with a cursed-off ear, Bill attacked by a werewolf, Ginny and her experience in the Chamber of Secrets. Nymphadora, her baby boy only weeks old. Remus, former pupil and fellow teacher, lying by his wife’s side. It was the Potters all over again, mother and father dead, baby boy orphaned. Alice, Frank, Sirius … the Prewetts, the McKinnons, the Bones…. The platform blurred, grayed. Too many. Two wars was two too many, but it was over. Minerva took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. They had done it, she and Dumbledore and Kingsley and all the Weasleys and every member of the Order, past and present. Every pupil who stood up to the Carrows—

The Carrows! She had completely forgotten. She glanced around for a Ravenclaw. 

“Miss Chang!” Cho Chang had finished Hogwarts last year, but no matter. Entering Ravenclaw Tower required the answer to a question, not a password that would be known only by the current pupils.

The dark-haired beauty hurried over. “What is it, Professor? Are you hurt?” 

Minerva followed the young woman’s gaze to where her right arm dangled uselessly at her side. Her shoulder didn’t hurt much as long as she didn’t move it. She waved her other hand impatiently. “No, no. The Carrows are floating in a net in your common room. Find an Auror and take them up to Ravenclaw Tower so they can be taken into custody.”

She gaped at her. “Floating in— _my_ common room?”

“Now, Miss Chang!”

“Yes, Professor.”

The Carrows. Oh, how Minerva hated them. She hadn’t known it was possible to hate someone that much. And Potter; she would never forget the shock of seeing Harry Potter materialize out of thin air, and in the Ravenclaw common room of all places. And the curse. There was no denying it was well-deserved, but on her behalf? Harry had been so indignant, as if being spit at were the worst that could happen. She supposed it was a good thing, in more ways than one, that he hadn’t been here at Hogwarts this year. Goodness knows, she’d had a hard enough time trying to restrain Miss Weasley and Longbottom.

There was Neville Longbottom, surrounded by a cluster of admiring pupils. Minerva felt a surge of pride and satisfaction. Her Gryffindors had done themselves proud, every one of them. She searched for the three, Potter, Weasley, and Granger, but saw only two, walking out of the Great Hall with a Harry-sized gap between them. It was worth it to see Voldemort dead on the floor and Harry still standing. The last year, the last _thirty_ years. Fighting, suffering, hiding, grieving, resisting; it was worth it to give these pupils, and all her future pupils, and all her past pupils who had survived, the opportunity to live freely. Without fear or persecution. To build a life with hope and dreams and joy. 

She would help them build it, starting with four tables and some food.


	2. Chapter One

Harry Potter swung the Invisibility Cloak back over himself as he, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger descended the moving staircase from the Headmaster’s office and made their way to Gryffindor Tower in silence. They turned down the Fat Lady’s corridor and stopped at her empty portrait.

“Now what?” Ron said.

“I’m here, I’m here, I’m here,” the Fat Lady said breathlessly, sliding into her frame. “Armando Dippet saw you leaving Professor Dumbledore’s office—“ Harry noticed she didn’t say “Snape’s office”— “and spread the word amongst all the portraits to tell me to get back here.” She paused, panting. “It’s true, then? You-Know-Who is dead?”

“As a doornail,” Ron said. “Can we come in? We don’t know the password.”

The Fat Lady beamed at them. “Of course you can, of course, of course.” She peered round Ron and Hermione. “I assume Mr. Potter is with you?”

Ron and Hermione said nothing.

The Fat Lady pouted. “Very well then,” she said, and swung forward.

Harry held his breath as Ron and Hermione preceded him through the portrait hole, uncertain as to how much damage had been done this high in the castle.

But the common room was untouched. A few schoolbooks lay scattered on tables, sweet wrappers and bits of rubbish cluttered the floor and sofas, and last night’s ashes remained in the fireplace grate. Since it was also deserted, Harry removed the Cloak.

“It looks smaller than I remember,” he said.

“Me too,” Ron said.

“I don’t—“ Hermione sniffed. “I’d forgotten how much I love this place.”

Ron gave her a quick sideways hug. “We’ll reminisce tomorrow. I’m knackered.”

“I’m starving,” Harry said.

“Why did we come up here then?” Ron said. “All the food’s in the Great Hall.”

“I was thinking … maybe Kreacher….”

An awkward silence fell, and Harry knew Ron and Hermione were thinking the same thing, wondering if Kreacher had made it through the Battle alive.

“Only one way to find out, mate,” Ron said.

Harry took a deep breath. “Kreacher!”

The silence stretched. Ten seconds … fifteen … thirty…. Hermione’s eyes filled with tears. Harry turned away.

And then there was a loud _crack_.

“Yes, Master Harry?” Kreacher bowed and stood before them, his once-white loincloth gray with soot and his snout-like nose bandaged.

“Kreacher, what happened to you?” Hermione cried.

“Kreacher is running into a bad wizard. Winky is patching Kreacher up and is still tending the other elves in the storerooms.”

“Winky is okay too?” Hermione said.

“Winky is fine, miss.”

“Kreacher, we’re starving. Do you think you could bring us some sandwiches and stuff from the kitchens?”

“At once, Master Harry,” Kreacher said, and disappeared with another loud _crack_.

The food disappeared almost as fast, with Harry, Ron, and Hermione eating their fill of sandwiches, fruit, and ice-cold pumpkin juice.

“Merlin, I’ve missed this place,” Ron said, sitting back at last. Hermione leaned on his shoulder, eyes drooping.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Harry said. “I don’t fancy being awakened when everyone does leave the Great Hall.”

Ron roused Hermione, and they climbed the stairs to the last dormitory. Harry and Ron automatically headed for the beds that had been theirs, but they floated above the floor.

“What the—“

Hermione had her wand directed at the two beds, which were moving towards each other.

“I don’t want to sleep alone,” she said defensively. “Lavender is at St. Mungo’s, and Parvati went with her. Please?”

Ron looked expectantly at Harry, who looked from Ron to Hermione and raised his brows. “You’re not going to jump him again, are you?”

Hermione turned a bright shade of pink and began stammering. Harry grinned at both of them and pointed at Hermione. “You’re in the middle.”

She gave her wand one final flourish to join the mattresses into one and dove over the footboard onto the center of the bed. Grabbing Ron’s pillow, she settled down and closed her eyes, still pink in the face. Harry crawled into bed from his side and felt the mattress dip as Ron did the same. Eyes closed, sleep descending like a curtain, he heard Ron whisper to Hermione, “Here, have some of my blanket,” and knew no more.

()()()()

Bill Weasley sat with his family at the Gryffindor table. The survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts chatted and ate, celebrating their victory and the end of the war, but this section of the table was silent.

Fred was dead. _He’s dead_ , Bill repeated in his mind. _Fred is dead_. The words had an awful rhyme, a parody of their grave meaning. He had been repeating them ever since they had taken Fred into a side chamber with the other— the others, but it still seemed surreal. One of his brothers was dead. Bill looked up as Dad and George rejoined the table.

“They’ve taken— they’ve taken him away,” Dad said huskily. “They will contact us in the next few days to schedule the— the service.”

The funeral, he meant. Fleur squeezed Bill’s hand. Ginny moved from Mum’s shoulder, pulling George down beside her. He looked dreadful, pale, blank, eyes red with tears. Bill wanted to cry just looking at him. George, without Fred….

“There you are!”

Bill looked up again. A pretty brunette stood in jeans and a Quodpot t-shirt, her long hair falling out of a hasty ponytail. Dirt streaked across her face but she appeared uninjured, and she wore a wide smile that was fading fast. _She doesn’t know_. Bill dreaded speaking the words out loud and hoped, childishly, that Mum or Dad would do it instead.

“Amy!” Charlie jumped up from the table and hugged her.

Bill hesitated before standing to greet her; he had not seen his ex-girlfriend since before Greyback’s attack. But Amy didn’t flinch at the sight of him, and Bill relaxed into her hug. “What are you doing here?”

“I got Charlie’s message, and I came to help. We got separated during the fighting, and I’ve been looking for y’all ever since it ended.”

“I’m Fleur Weasley.” It wasn’t until Bill heard the crisp tones and turned to find his wife standing with her hand outstretched that he realized he was still holding onto Amy. He dropped her arm and stepped back, allowing the two witches to make their own introductions.

“Amy Green,” she said, shaking Fleur’s hand with an air of faint amusement. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Bill and I worked together in Egypt.”

Fleur pursed her lips, but before she could say anything, Amy exclaimed, “No!”

Bill turned to see what had startled her and realized his little sister had come round the table to say hello.

“You can’t be Ginny!” Amy said, even as she pulled the younger witch to her in an enthusiastic embrace before stepping back and holding her at arm’s length. “See, I told you you’d grow into a beautiful woman.”

Ginny, who had last seen Amy on her twelfth birthday, blushed. “Thanks. It’s good to see you.”

“You should see Ron,” Percy said. “He’s taller than Bill now.”

“He is not,” Bill said automatically, and Percy gave him a faint smile, which he returned. It was unbelievable that he could gain one brother and lose another in a matter of hours.

“Where is Ron?” Amy asked, looking round. “And Fred?”

All the Weasleys dropped their eyes, shifting uncomfortably.

“Oh, no,” she whispered, placing her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no, they’re not—“ She looked first to Charlie, then Bill. “Please tell me they’re not—“

“Ron is fine,” Dad said quickly. “But Fred—“ He swallowed. “Fred was killed.”

Amy froze for one long moment. Then she stepped onto the bench, the table, and down the other side, taking Ginny’s empty seat beside George and putting an arm round his shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she said. George managed a nod. “Gods, I— I’m so, so sorry.” She turned to Mum. “Have you eaten?”

“What?”

“Food,” Amy repeated. “Have you had any?” Without waiting for an answer, she pulled over a bowl of porridge, placed some on the plate in front of Mum, and added a slice of toast. “Eat a little something, and we’ll find you a place to lie down.”

Amy’s actions seemed to break the spell of lethargy that had settled over all of them, and everyone began to load their plates as Amy summoned juice and tea from up the table.

“You were more than friends,” Fleur said, stopping Bill before he could sit down.

He met her gaze squarely. “Yes, we were.” They had run into this a few times before. Being six years older than his wife and marrying her when she was only twenty, he’d had more partners than she had.

“And Charlie?” Fleur asked, watching as Amy poured drinks and settled between Charlie and Ginny.

“They’re just good friends, I think. Charlie recruited her into the Order the same summer I came home, and they’ve kept in touch since.”

Fleur seated herself with a graceful twist, and Bill knew the subject was closed.

“I would like to lie down myself,” she admitted. “Shall we go home after this?”

Bill hesitated. He didn’t want to leave his parents or his siblings; truth be told, he didn’t want to leave Hogwarts.

“Dad? Have there been any arrangements made for overnight guests?” It was nearly noon, but no one had slept in two days.

“The Aurors are taking the regular guest quarters. The staff is converting the extra rooms on the ground floor to guest rooms, and with the younger pupils gone, there is some room in the dormitories. Minerva has given us free use of Gryffindor Tower.”

“Bill, I never slept in the dormitories when I was a pupil here,” Fleur whispered. “I will have no place to go.”

“Nonsense. We’ll get you into Gryffindor Tower. You’re a Weasley now.”

She smiled up at him, and he leaned down to kiss her. She was one good thing that had come out of this miserable war, Fleur was.

()()()()

Ginny Weasley gave the Fat Lady the password and admitted her family to the Gryffindor common room. Unnoticed in the bustle as eight people, including Fleur and Amy, clamored through the portrait hole behind her, Ginny slipped up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory. She hadn’t seen Ron or Harry since right after Voldemort fell, and she wanted to make sure they were all right. She _needed_ to make sure they were all right, needed to know she had lost only one brother, not two; that Harry had really survived. She would check on the boys first and then Hermione before going to bed herself.

She should have known. They were all three together, asleep on their sides, facing the door with their wands in their hands. What had happened to these three over the last nine months that they not only slept with their wands, but kept them in hand? Predictably, Harry was closest to the door, the first line of defense to protect the other two. Ron and Hermione nestled together apart from him, and as she looked closer, Ginny smirked. Ron’s arm was thrown over Hermione and curved against her chest, his hand cupped round one breast. This was too good of a photo op to pass up. She turned for the door, intent on finding Colin to take the picture for her, when the memory returned.

Colin Creevey, dead on the Great Hall floor, only a few bodies away from her brother Fred. Ginny stifled her sobs with her fist and ran headlong down the stairs.


	3. Chapter Two

Harry woke up alone. The curtains were drawn around Dean’s and Seamus’s beds, and the dormitory was pitch black. He’d slept through dinner. He made a brief stop in the bathroom and went downstairs, hoping Hermione would be in the common room and could give him a fresh change of clothes from her beaded bag.

Harry was surprised to see not just pupils in the common room. He recognized Seamus’s mother talking to Mr. Weasley in a corner, and Bill and Percy sat at a nearby table. Ron greeted Harry from their favorite armchairs in front of the fire.

“Morning, mate.”

“Morning?” Harry checked his watch. Ten after two. Morning it was.

Ron tossed him a Chocolate Frog. “I just woke up about half an hour ago myself.”

“Where’s Hermione?” Harry said, swallowing the Frog in two bites and reaching for another.

“Bill said she got up a little after eleven and went to check on Ginny.” Without conscious thought, Harry’s head swiveled to the entrance to the girls’ dormitories. _Ginny_. After months of watching her dot on the Marauder’s Map, after missing her so badly it was like a stomachache, Ginny was right here, only a few feet away. He suddenly wished he had forgone the Chocolate Frogs, which were behaving more like Peppermint Toads the way they hopped around his stomach.

“Harry? Harry!”

“Huh? What?”

Ron gave him a pointed look. Harry picked up his Chocolate Frog card just for something to do.

“So, what next?” Ron said.

Harry dropped Ignatia Wildsmith and sighed. “No idea. Think McGonagall would let me stay here for a while?”

Ron frowned. “Why would you want to do that?”

Harry didn’t meet his gaze. He had been so focused on getting the Horcruxes, on destroying Voldemort, that he had not considered the practicalities of what he would do if he managed to succeed. “I don’t have anywhere to go,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be a prat.” Ron paused to chew yet another Chocolate Frog.

“Well, I guess I could go back to Grimmauld Place….”

Ron made a noise of disgust and swallowed. “You’re coming home,” he said firmly. “To the Burrow.”

“I can’t do that. With … Fred … and everything….”

“‘Course you can. We want you there.” His expression flickered slightly. “I want you there. Nobody blames you, Harry.”

Harry thought they should, but he nodded anyway. If it would help Ron, of course he would go to the Burrow.

“I’m—“ Ron cleared his throat. “I’m going to talk to Percy for a minute. You okay here?”

Harry nodded again, and Ron left to join his brothers.

“Have you seen Gran?” Neville dropped onto the chair Ron had just vacated.

“Not since the Great Hall. Why? Is she okay?”

“I think so,” Neville said, spilling a stash of toast and bacon onto a nearby table. “She went to bed around lunchtime, and I haven’t seen her since. Mr. Weasley said she was up earlier this evening, but I was still asleep. I guess we all have our days and nights mixed up. Help yourself,” he added, making a bacon sandwich.

Harry didn’t need to be asked twice. Confronted with the smell of bacon, his stomach had decided missing Ginny was no longer a priority. “Where did you get this?”

“Went down to the kitchens,” Neville said around a large mouthful.

Harry added a second layer of bacon. “I didn’t know you knew how to get into the kitchens.”

“I didn’t,” Neville said, taking a swig of milk. “Ginny showed me.”

Harry’s stomach spasmed painfully again. He ignored it and took a bite. Maybe if it were full, it wouldn’t be so sensitive. “How is she?”

“I haven’t seen her since last term … but I think you knew that.” Neville watched him shrewdly.

“Okay, then, how was she? What happened with the sword of Gryffindor? Did she have any other detentions? Did the Carrows torture her about ... anything?”

Neville began prepping a second sandwich. “She’s a Gryffindor, Harry. She had loads of detentions.”

He groaned.

“Getting the sword was her idea. She said Dumbledore left it to you in his will, but the Ministry wouldn’t give it to you.”

Harry nodded. “How were you planning to get it to me once you had stolen it?”

Neville gave a wry smile. “Ginny said we could worry about that once we had it.”

“And your detention in the Forbidden Forest? It was like that time in first year, right? You were with Hagrid?”

Neville shook his head. “It was a full moon. Our detention was to spend the night avoiding Greyback.”

Harry’s jaw dropped, and his stomach followed suit. It took him several seconds to find his voice. “Don’t— don’t tell Ron that, okay?”

“She was brilliant,” Neville said. “I don’t think she was even scared, just really pissed off that Snape prevented us from helping you.”

Harry knew better, but Ginny was a very good actress. “What— what else?” Mangled by his tightening grip, his sandwich was now the approximate size of a saltine.

“She refused to curse the younger pupils. Was caught with a _Daily Prophet_ once; I still don’t know how she got that. Newspapers were banned, you know. Filch turned her in for talking to Luna between lessons. We ran into Mrs. Norris coming back from a DA meeting around Halloween.” Neville licked one finger and concentrated on removing the crumbs from his shirt.

“What _else_ , Neville?”

He hesitated. “Do you really want to know?”

Like with Dumbledore, Harry wanted the truth, the facts. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“It was Seamus who first noticed that the older girls were coming back from detentions apparently untouched. We always had bruises, cuts, rope burns, but after the first few weeks, the girls didn’t have a mark. At least not where we could see.” He paused to let the implication sink in. “I tried to talk to Ginny, Seamus talked to Lavender and Parvati, I even asked Luna and Hannah … none of them would talk about it. We got together with Michael, Anthony, and Ernie, and once they started paying attention, they reported the same thing. The older girls, about fifth year and up, were returning from detentions with no visible injuries.” Neville vanished the rest of the food, looking nauseated. “After a while, we realized they were taking detentions for the younger girls, and the pure-blood witches were taking more than their share.”

Harry felt sick and dizzy. Ginny was a pure-blood witch. Had the Carrows used that against her? Instead of protecting her, had her blood status made her a target for a different form of depravity?

“The girls must have had some kind of communication system, because all of a sudden, the pure-blood witches were everywhere, even ones not in the DA. In the Great Hall, the library, the courtyard … everywhere pupils gathered, every time Amycus and his Slytherin gang tried to intimidate, there were at least one or two pure-blood witches who would get in the way. A little while after that, they backed off. Or at least, the girls started having the same injuries that we did.” Neville paused, watching Harry digest the news. “I’m sorry, Harry. You said you wanted to know.”

This was worse than he had imagined, worse than Neville’s account to him, Ron and Hermione on the way in from the Hog’s Head, worse than his nightmares. He had been so focused on Ginny’s physical safety, on separating himself from her, had assumed her pure blood would be a shield, that he had not considered her desirability to wizards who thought magical blood was ideal; he had not considered her value in promoting a pure-blood society. And she was beautiful, genuinely beautiful….

“Ginny, was she ... did they….“

“I don’t think she was raped,” Neville said bluntly. “I think she would have fought hard enough they would have had to have injured her for that. Beyond that, I don’t know. Like I said, she wouldn’t talk about it.”

The last time Ginny had been quiet and reserved while at Hogwarts was when she was writing in Tom Riddle’s diary.

“I wish you could have seen her this year,” Neville said. “She was amazing. She stood up to Snape and the Carrows, encouraged the other members of the DA, looked after the younger pupils. She was the heart and soul of the resistance here, and she always spoke well of you. She’s tough, Ginny is. She’ll be all right.”

“What about her friends?” Harry asked, trying to make his voice sound off-handed and casual. “Who did she hang out with?”

“The same people as always, Harry,” Neville said dryly. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

Harry grimaced. “We broke up.”

“Not according to Ginny.”

Harry jerked away from contemplating the door to the girls’ dormitories again. “She wasn’t supposed to say anything! I did that to protect her, to keep the Death Eaters from questioning her.“

“I know, mate, and she didn’t say anything. But she showed every wizard in this castle she was your girl.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She must have nicked every Quidditch jersey you ever had, not to mention your old jumpers from Ron’s mum. The Gryffindor one, and the one she made you in fourth year, with the dragon?”

Harry had outgrown that jumper long ago, but it would fit Ginny or even be a bit big on her.

“But— but the uniforms….“

Neville laughed. “Luna said Ginny would show up to class in uniform, then casually shrug off her robe to reveal your jumper underneath. We’d be revising in the library or eating in the Great Hall, and she would reach into her bag, pull out one of your Quidditch jerseys, and pull it on over her robes. Drove McGonagall spare, she did. School record for most uniform violations in a single term.”

“But Ginny is a Gryffindor, and she plays Quidditch, not to mention her brothers. How does that—“

“Harry, we’re seventh years. The only Gryffindor Seeker any pupil in this school remembers, other than Ginny herself, is you. The most wanted wizard in Britain was a Gryffindor, and she goes around in his old scarlet jumper with a big gold lion on the front. Everyone knows how you got past those dragons at the Triwizard Tournament, even the little kids, and she wears a dragon jumper that matches your eyes. It was obvious.”

“And she didn’t— she didn’t get in trouble?” Harry found it hard to believe the Carrows had allowed Ginny to do that if everyone associated it with him.

“She did. She didn’t care. And she really is an amazing witch. Most of the time she hid them before anyone could catch her with the evidence.”

“It’s been months, though. And I kind of just … disappeared. Without saying goodbye.”

“Like I said, she’s been acting like your girlfriend all this time. But Harry?” Neville waited for him to look up. “No one’s pulling for you, mate.”

Harry sighed. Ginny was still too popular for her own good—and especially his.

()()()()

Harry stared at the entrance to the girls’ dormitories yet again, willing Ginny to appear and wondering what he would say, when a brunette stranger appeared. She wore a t-shirt from a sports team he didn’t recognize and baggy pajama trousers the exact color and texture of the velvet bed curtains, and she was definitely too old to be a pupil.

“Good morning,” she said, walking over and taking the chair next to Harry’s.

“Good morning. Who are the Austin Ashwinders?”

“American Quodpot team,” she said, and this time, Harry noticed her accent. “I’m Amy Green.”

He shook the proffered hand. “Harry Potter.”

She grinned. “I know. Nice wand work yesterday.”

“Er, thanks. No offense, but you’re obviously not a pupil, and you’re too young to be anyone’s mum. How did you get in here?”

She had already made herself at home, turning sideways in the chair and tucking her bare feet underneath her.

“I’m with the Weasleys,” she said, waving a hand to where Charlie had joined his family on the other side of the room. “I worked with Bill in Egypt, and Charlie recruited me into the Order three years ago. I just didn’t want to interrupt them, and I wanted to speak to you.”

In that case…. “Do you know Ginny?”

“Sure. Sweet girl.”

Sweet would not have been Harry’s first choice of description, unless he were talking about the smell of her hair…. “Do you know where she’s sleeping? My friend Hermione went to check on her during the night, and we haven’t seen either of them since.”

“I slept in her dorm. Your friend has curly brown hair?”

Harry nodded.

“They’re both asleep, although I don’t think Ginny has slept much at all. She put up a privacy charm, but she was crying when she came upstairs. And I think she and Hermione were up talking for a while.”

That fit, if Ginny woke up when Hermione went to the girls’ dormitories.

“Well, speak of the devil,” Amy said, smiling.

Harry turned and saw a very bushy, slightly burnt-haired Hermione making her way towards him, her mum’s old University of Bristol sweatshirt pulled over her pajamas.

“Morning.” She yawned, sitting on the arm of his chair. “We didn’t get to meet last night. I’m Hermione Granger.”

“Amy Green,” she said. “Bill and I—“

“Worked together in Egypt. I remember,” Hermione said. “Ginny talked about you. She had a really good time on that trip. I was so jealous.”

“Pardon me, Hermione, but do you have a change of clothes for me in your bag?”

“Oh! Of course.” She lifted the hem of her sweatshirt and pulled the beaded bag out from the waistband of her pajamas. “I don’t really need to carry it with me, now that we’re at Hogwarts and everything’s fine— well, not fine, exactly, but now that we’re safe, but I don’t feel right without it.“ She pulled out a pair of jeans that, by the length of the leg, were obviously Ron’s. “Oh, I’m sorry. Everything’s all messed up since the dragon ride, and I haven’t bothered to….“ A pink pair of socks.

“What dragon ride?” Amy said.

“ _Accio_ my clothes!”

“No, Harry—“ Harry ducked as he was attacked by clothing. Jumpers, denims, pants, t-shirts, robes, socks, gloves, even an extra pair of shoes, soared out of the beaded bag until he was completely covered. Harry clawed his way free, scowling at the giggling witches. “Exactly how much of my stuff did you pack?”

“Everything you had at the Burrow.” Hermione grinned. “You can go take a shower now.”

Harry sorted through the pile, separating a single outfit as Amy inspected Hermione’s handbag.

“Where the _hell_ have you been!” Ginny was awake.


	4. Chapter Three

"Where the  _hell_ have you been!"

"I--I--"

Ginny advanced across the common room. "You disappear for nine months-- _nine months_ \--and not a single word!"

"I--we were--"

"I don't care!" she shrieked, and Harry was alarmed to see her eyes glistened with tears. "I don't care where you were, you could have let me know you were alive!"

"No, Ginny, listen--"

"No,  _you_ listen!" She stood right in front of him now and jabbed her finger hard into his chest. "You Disapparated right in front of me, and we had no idea where you went!"

"Your dad said not to reply! He said it wasn't safe, that you were being watched!"

"Then we heard about a break-in at the Ministry. The Ministry for Magic, Harry, what were you thinking? Were you  _trying_ to be killed?"

"Of course not! We needed--"

"And then nothing.  _Nothing_!" Her voice cracked. "For months and months, not a single word, not one sighting,  _nothing_ to indicate you were still out there. Do you know what that was like, Harry? Do you?"

Her brown eyes were hard, cold, and her jaw was set like Fred and George's, a visible and painful reminder of her dead brother.

"I'm sorry, Ginny, we couldn't--"

"And then Bill shows up on our doorstep. 'Harry, Ron, and Hermione are at our house,' he says. Luna and another boy, a dead house-elf, an injured goblin, and Mr. Ollivander. He says we've got to leave the Burrow right away because the Death Eaters know Ron isn't sick, that he's traveling with  _you_. So, now I know where you are, and you know where I am, and still. No. Word."

But before Harry could protest he hadn't even known Bill was going to the Burrow until it was all over, that he had been busy burying Dobby, she went on.

"I told myself you hadn't had time, that Bill had rushed off before you could tell him anything. But then he comes to Auntie Muriel's with Mr. Ollivander, and I come running down the stairs--" She was actually crying now, streams of tears running down both cheeks. "--Expecting a letter from you, but he has nothing. Not a note, not a message, not a single word. Then you finally show up here after  _nine months_ , and you  _still_ don't say anything to me. You wouldn't stand up for me--"

"Wait one minute," Harry said through clenched teeth. She was talking about the Room of Requirement, when she silently pleaded with him to speak to Mrs. Weasley about letting Ginny fight with the others and he refused. But this entire night--these entire  _nine months_ , as she liked to say--were all about standing up for Ginny and the other victims of Voldemort.

But Ginny didn't wait. Despite her tears, she looked neither sad nor vulnerable.

"You just order me around. 'Get out, Ginny. Come back, Ginny. Stay safe, Ginny,'" she mocked. "Well, I have news for you, Harry Potter. I've never been safe at Hogwarts, and this year was no different!"

The truth of those words hit Harry like a blow to the stomach, and all the air rushed out of him.

"You do  _not_ get to tell me you love me and then just fall off the face of the earth! You can't just reappear, and stir up hope and promises, and then let me believe you're  _dead_!" She put both hands on his chest and pushed, hard enough that he stumbled backwards.

"I never said that!" Harry glanced briefly at the Weasleys in the corner, then met Ron's eyes. "I never said I loved her."

" 'It's been like something out of someone else's life, these last few weeks with you.' " Ginny threw the words at him like an accusation.

"Ginny...." Hermione reached for her friend, but Ginny shook her off.

" 'I only wish I'd asked you sooner.' " Ginny continued quoting Harry's words back to him. " 'We could've had ages ... months ... years maybe.' " She swiped her eyes. "Well, I'm glad you didn't ask me sooner, Harry, and I hope you never ask me again!"

Harry stared at Ginny with a buzzing noise in his head. He saw her eyes widen and her expression crumple, as if her own words just now reached her ears. He heard faint gasps and murmurs, realized everyone in the common room had heard, and bolted. Vaulting over the sofa behind him, he slammed through the portrait hole and broke into a run.

()()()()

"Oh, no," Ginny whispered, staring at the back of the Fat Lady's portrait, which Harry had opened so forcefully that it bounced off the outside wall and shut itself again. "Oh, no, oh, no, oh--"

Ron glowered at her. "How could you? How could you do that to him? You know how Harry hates to be the center of attention, how private he is, and you humiliated him in front of everybody!"

"I'm sorry, Ron, I didn't mean it!" Not the never asking part. Not the part that Harry (and everyone else) would remember.

But Ron continued to glare at her. Ginny didn't blame him. Yes, she had been hurt when Harry didn't take even a moment to speak to her, and she had been furious at his collaboration with her mother, but she couldn't believe she had said that, about never wanting ... that she had hurled the words she had held close to her heart all year as if they were weapsons.

An arm slid round her waist, and Ginny followd its pressure without thinking. They were halfway up the stairs before she realized it was Hermione, and Ginny began crying in earnest.

"He's never going to forgive me! Ron is right. Harry is a very private person, and I know he meant those things to stay between us."

"Come on, Ginny, let's get upstairs."

But Ginny leaned more heavily against Hermione and cried harder. Hermione, perhaps sensing that Ginny wasn't going to stop, sank down against the wall.

"Shh, it's okay. It will be okay."

"No, it won't!" Ginny sobbed. "I love Harry, and now he hates me! He's going to hate me forever! I dreamt--I dreamt about the Forest. The night we had our detention for stealing the sword of Gryffindor. We were running, me and Harry, we were running together, and then I was back on the steps of the castle again, watching Hagrid carrying his-- his b-b-body out of the Forest. And I was so angry wiht him for d-dying, and angry that he wouldn't let me come with him tonight, and just--I just wanted to tell him it wasn't fair!"

Hermione said nothing. She held Ginny and rubbed her back. Ginny just kept crying; she had no self-control anymore. She had held back all year, held in the fear and the pain and the anger and the hurt and the sheer rage, and she couldn't hold back anymore. She knew she was embarrassing herself, wetting Hermione's shoulder with snot and tears, but it was too much. On top of everything else that happened since her fake galleon had glowed with heat two nights ago, fighting with Harry was too much.

"Ianed!" she wailed.

"What?"

"I w-w-w-want--I w-want F-f-fred!"

"Oh, Ginny." Hermione sounded tearful herself. "I'm so sorry, love. So very, very sorry."

And still Ginny cried. She cried until her nose stopped up, until the muscles in her face ached. She cried until her shoulders hurt from shaking and there was a stabbing pain in her chest. She cried until she was empty, until her throat was raw and her stomach heaved and her tears simply ran out. She took a few stuttering breaths, then pushed Hermione away and turned to the side, retching.

Hermione stayed with her, holding her hair out of the way and vanishing the sick as it splattered on the steps. When at last it was over and Ginny stood up, Hermione conjured her a glass of water and a washcloth. Ginny took them with shaking hands.

Hermione put her arm round Ginny's shoulders. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

"I want to apologize to Harry."

"I know, but you should sleep first."

Ginny's lip trembled. "I should have slept before I shouted at him."

"I know, love, but it will be okay. Here you go. Drink this."

Ginny didn't know what it was, nor did she care.

"Hermione? Will you ... will you stay with me?"

"I'll stay until you fall asleep," she promised, fussing with the covers.

"Harry's never going to forgive me." Ginny mumbled her last thought before surrendering to oblivion.

()()()()

Harry sat in the corner of an empty classroom somewhere, legs drawn up, arms around them, forehead on his knees. After everything--those perfect weeks at the end of sixth year, breaking up to protect her, worrying about her, dreaming about her, following her dot on the map, seeing her in the Room of Requirement, passing her on the grounds, her face in his mind's eye ... even this morning, longing for her to come down the stairs so he could see her, talk with her--after all that, and she didn't want to be with him anymore? Harry clenched his hands into fists. No, not _anymore_ ; _never again_ , she said. She didn't want him to ask her to be his ever again.

Harry placed his hand on his chest, over the stabbing pain, but there was nothing there. No knife to pull out, no visible wound he could mend with a spell or dittany. How did--how did this happen? They had been fine last summer--fine! Okay, it had been a bit awkward at the Burrow, but Ginny hadn't been angry when they broke up. She even said she was expecting it. She said Harry going after Voldemort was why she liked him so much. And his Birthday Kiss. Harry didn't know much about relationships, but he knew that was not a goodbye. How had Ginny described it? "Something to remember me by." And he had remembered her, every day, sometimes every hour. He closed his eyes, feeling the wetness under his lashes.

Ginny had cried. Other than Dumbledore's funeral (and with Fred), Harry had only seen her cry once before, when she woke up in the Chamber of Secrets. Amy said Ginny had been crying before she fell asleep and hadn't slept much. Harry sat up, thinking. It had been a very traumatic time for Ginny, the last couple of days. Coming back to school, Percy's return, the Battle, Fred's death--Harry winced-- _his_ death, the chaos of the aftermath.... Maybe Ginny was just feeling ... distressed. Overwhelmed. Maybe she hadn't  _really_ meant it....

But it was a long way from distressed to "I never want to be with you." And she seemed genuinely pissed off by his behavior in the Room of Requirement. Harry clenched his jaw when he remembered her accusation that he had failed to stand up for her. How could she-- He hadalways-- She knew how he felt, she read between the lines of what he had said that day by the lake, and she-- That didn't matter to her anymore? She  _knew_ he had to leave; she knew it was too dangerous to communicate. Was she really that angry about being left behind? About leaving  _them_ behind? Harry had spoken straight from his heart htat day, risked himself because he trusted her, and now she threw it back in his face.

He rubbed his face against his sleeve. He'd have to go back soon. Meet the Weasleys for breakfast, at least. In fact, he was half surprised Ron or Hermione hadn't--

"Harry!" It was Hermione's voice. "Harry, we know you're in there."

Impossible. He had used the same protective spells that had hidden their tent so successfully for months. Hermione should see nothing but a blank stretch of stone wall, and he'd cast  _Muffliato_ as well.

She banged on the invisible door. "I know you're in there, Harry. We have the Marauder's Map."

Damn. That bloody beaded bag of hers.

"Lower the wards, mate." Ron this time. "We want to talk to you."

"Yeah, well, I don't want to talk to anybody," Harry muttered, retreating farther into his corner.

"Harry, you're being stupid--"

"Oh, that'll get him to open the door!"

"He is," Hermione insisted. "He knows we know how to reverse the wards, and he still won't  _let us in_!" She punctuated the last few words with corresponding bangs.

"Come on, Harry we just want to talk," Ron said. "If you want to stay here after we're done, we'll leave you alone. Tell him, Hermione."

Harry could picutre their silent argument. Hermione's stubborn face, Ron's crossed arms and pointed look. She would shake her head, Ron would raise an eyebrow, and Hermione would either--

She must have sighed and rolled her eyes, for the next thing Harry heard was, "Okay, Harry. We'll leave you alone after we've had our say."

He considered this. Ron and Hermione both knew how to get in, and while Ron was generally respectful of his privacy, Harry had no doubt that Hermione was coming in, whether invited or not. He reversed the charms.

"Harry? Where are you?" Hermione looked round the room at Harry-height.

Thought the desks and chair legs, he saw Ron turn towards the farthest corner, and soon a freckled hand reached down to him. Harry took it and grudgingly allowed Ron to pull him to his feet.

"She didn't mean that last bit," he said at once.

"You don't know that." Harry kept his back turned.

"We do," Hermione said. "She said so. She was upset, Harry--really hurt. She had just dreamt about you coming out of the Forbidden Forest."

Meaning Ginny had just dreamt about him being dead. Harry squelched the spurt of guilt.

"I've told you for years that Ginny has a fierce temper, worse than Mum sometimes. You've just never been on the brunt end of it before."

"She wasn't just angry, she said--" It hurt just to think it. "She said she never wanted to be with me. She was sorry we were ever together."

"She lied," Ron said simply.

"She's not herself, Harry," Hermione said. "She's tired and emotional, and when she woke up scared and hurt and angry, she just reacted. You should have seen her face, afterwards. She's really upset about it. She cried herself sick. She wanted to come apologize right away, but I made her sleep first."

Harry turned to face his friends for the first time. "She should have yelled at me in private. Given me a chance to explain."

"Yeah, she should have, but it's like Hermione said, she just went off. Ginny can be mean when she's angry. Remember what happened when we interrupted her and Dean?"

Harry was not likely to forget that fight between the siblings for a very long time.

"I know it's been hard for her, and I'm sorry about--about everything, but that doesn't excuse--"

"Of course it doesn't," Hermione said quickly. "We just--" She glanced at Ron. "We just wanted you to know the circumstances, and to convince you to listen to her when she apologizes. That's all."

His expression must have been as unhappy as he felt, for Hermione looked anxious. "What you decide to do is up to you, of course, I just--  _we_ just want you to give her a chance. You belong together, Harry. I know you do."

To his horror, Harry felt his eyes prickling and coughed, hard. "Are you done?"

Hermione nodded and turned to leave, but Ron didn't move. "Go on," he said to her. "I'll catch you up."

She bit her lip, looked between the two of them, then left the room.

"If you're going to give me another big brother speech, I'm really not in the mood," Harry said crossly, folding his arms and leaning against a desk.

Ron swung a chair around and straddled it backwards. "This is awkward as hell, so I'm only going to say it once. Do you remember the first thing you did after you kissed Ginny for the first time? You looked for me, to see my reaction. Because she's my sister and you're my best mate, and you wanted to make sure it was okay. And I said it was because I trusted you. I didn't say a word when you broke it off because I knew why you did it and frankly, I was relieved. And last summer, you promised not to mess her around, remember?"

"What's your point?"

"My point is, you care what I think, and I think you and Ginny belong together. Voldemort's gone. He can't hurt you or anyone you care about. You're free to do whatever you want with your life, and I think that should include Ginny."

Harry gaped. Ron's ears turned red but he plowed on. "I don't care what she said tonight, she loves you, Harry, and I think you love her back."

"I didn't-- I never-- Who said--"

"Oh, come on! I know you, and I know my sister. I've never seen either of you as happy as you were when you were together. You promised me you wouldn't mess her around, so I expect you to make this work."

"You expect-- You expect  _me_ \--" Harry was so outraged he couldn't speak. He took a deep breath and pointed in what he thought was the direction of Gryffindor Tower. "She just said, in front of, like, a dozen witnesses, that she doesn't want to have anything to do with me!"

"Don't worry. She'll get a big brother speech too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's words to Ginny from their conversation after Dumbledore's funeral are quotes from: Rowling, J. K. _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_. Bloomsbury: London, 2005. pp. 602-03. Ginny's description of their kiss is from: Rowling, J. K. _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_. Bloomsbury: London, 2007. p. 99.


	5. Chapter Four

Breakfast was easier than Harry expected. If Bill, Charlie, and Percy were cooler towards him than usual, no one made mention of it (or of Ginny), and Neville gave no indication that he had witnessed anything untoward. Harry was contemplating a fifth slice of toast when Professor McGonagall stood up and called for everyone’s attention.

“I have some announcements to make,” she said. “Due to extensive damage to the castle, the school year is officially over.”

To Harry’s surprise, there was no reaction to this other than an attentive silence. 

“Those of you who are able to Apparate may do so at your leisure. For those who need transportation, please notify your Head of House so we can arrange for Floo travel. O.W.L. exams will be rescheduled over the summer. Fifth-years, details will be sent to you by owl in the coming weeks. All seventh years have a mandatory meeting with their Head of House at eleven o’clock.

“It is my goal to repair the castle in time for lessons to resume on September second as usual, and this will require additional effort from all of us. Volunteers who are willing to assist in the cleanup and renovations, please see Mr. Filch.” McGonagall paused. “Funeral dates are being coordinated through the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Families of the victims will be notified directly, and a schedule of all services will appear in the Daily Prophet within the next week. All patients requiring further care have been transported to St. Mungo’s Hospital. Please see Madam Pomfrey if you have any questions regarding the status of a patient.” She paused again, consulting a scroll of parchment on the table by her plate. “The Aurors have asked me to inform you they are still in the process of searching the castle, grounds, and Hogsmeade for any remaining Death Eaters or—“

“Snape!” Harry exclaimed, and in the silence, his voice echoed off the stone walls. Every head in the hall turned towards him. Professor McGonagall gave him one of her stern looks, as if he were just another errant schoolboy, and he flushed.

“Or supporters of Voldemort,” McGonagall continued, “and request you stay within the confines of the Great Hall and your respective common rooms and dormitories until their search is complete. You are dismissed.”

There was the usual clamor of benches and footsteps, less deafening than usual since all the underage pupils were gone, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn’t move.

“Snape’s body is still in the Shrieking Shack,” Hermione said.

“And we need to give our names to Filch for the cleanup,” Ron added.

Harry nodded. “You two do that. I’m going to tell McGonagall about Professor Snape.”

Harry stopped at the head table, waiting for McGonagall to finish her conversation with Professor Sprout.

“Tell Filch you need some help immediately and have him send any willing pupils down to the greenhouses,” McGonagall said. “Yes, Potter, what is it?”

“It’s Professor Snape,” Harry said. “He’s dead. He was killed by Nagini in the Shrieking Shack. His body must still be there.”

“In the Shrieking Shack?”

“Yes. And Professor, he was on our side. Dumbledore planned his death with Snape.”

Her gaze sharpened. “You weren’t simply trying to antagonize Voldemort?”

Harry shook his head. “No, Professor. I saw it in the Pensieve. Snape gave me some of his memories before he died. They’re probably still there, in the Pensieve in Dum— in your office.”

“That’s quite possible.” McGonagall sighed.

For the first time since he had seen her the night before last, she looked, and sounded, weary. Harry wondered if she had slept yet.

“Professor? Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m fine,” she said, and Harry was reassured to hear the usual briskness return to her tone. “I’ll notify … someone.” She fixed him with her beady stare. “I expect to see you, Weasley, and Granger in my office as well.”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry said.

()()()()

Charlie Weasley turned at the hand on his arm.

“I should go,” Amy said.

“Do you want me to….“ His family was merging in with the others leaving the Great Hall.

“No, don’t bother them. Can I Disapparate from here?”

“No, not anywhere in the castle or on the grounds. I’ll walk you out.”

They crossed the Entrance Hall and made most of the journey down the long, winding drive in silence, past the burnt-out shell of the Quidditch stadium and around the lake. It wasn’t until the winged boars on top of the Hogwarts gates were in sight that Amy spoke.

“You’ll let me know about the funerals? Fred’s, and Lupin and Tonks’s?”

He nodded.

“It’s just awful. And the baby….”

Charlie said nothing, just stuffed his hands in his pockets and studied the ground between his shoes.

“I really liked her.” Amy sighed.

“Yeah, she was—“ He cleared his throat. “She was special, Tonks was.”

Amy leaned against his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Charlie. For everything. For everyone.”

He shrugged the opposite shoulder, careful not to dislodge her. “It was a war, and we won.”

“But you don’t feel like the victor.”

No. No, this was nothing like what he thought victory would feel like.

Amy turned and hugged him fully. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing hard. When she didn’t complain or step back, it was several long moments before he released her.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Charlie said.

Amy smiled. “The Floo works both ways, you know. Take care of yourself, Charlie.”

And she was gone.

()()()()

Shortly before eleven o’clock, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Dean, and Seamus left the Gryffindor common room for McGonagall’s office. The six of them more than filled the doorway and McGonagall looked up.

“Take a seat, please,” she said, indicating the chairs lined in two rows in front of her desk. “Due to the unconducive learning conditions and shortened school year, the Heads of House have decided to recommend to the Board of Directors to offer all the seventh years the choice of sitting their N.E.W.T. exams late summer or applying for jobs with written recommendations from each of us based on your coursework so far. Minus the Carrows, of course.” Her nostrils flared at the mention of the Death Eaters, then she continued. “We fully expect the Board to follow our recommendation. Potter, Weasley, Granger, Thomas, we are offering you the opportunity to return in September to complete your seventh year and sit for N.E.W.T.s at that time.”

“Yes,” Hermione said immediately.

Harry and Ron looked at her. 

“Of course we’re coming back,” she said, then seeing Ron’s expression, she turned to Harry. “Aren’t we?”

“You do not need to decide your answers until July first. That will give us time to make arrangements and adjust schedules.”

“Who’s going to teach Transfiguration?” Neville asked.

McGonagall looked startled.

“Well, you can’t be Headmistress and teach the whole school too,” he said.

“Next year’s head has not yet been assigned,” Professor McGonagall said.

“Of course you’re Headmistress,” Harry said staunchly. “You were Deputy Headmistress, and now Professor Snape is gone, so that makes you Headmistress.”

“If the Board of Governors approves.”

“They’ll approve,” Harry, Ron, and Hermione said together. 

The corners of McGonagall’s mouth lifted before she looked at Neville and Seamus. “Do either of you want to take your N.E.W.T.s over the summer?”

“Not me,” Seamus said at once. “Most of my effort this year has been concentrated on other things.”

Neville didn’t answer.

“Longbottom?” 

“May I think about it?”

“Certainly. Let me know what you decide, and we can arrange for you to test in your chosen subjects.”

Neville nodded.

Professor McGonagall folded her hands together on the desk. “Now that this is all over, I want to say I have never been more proud of a pupil than I am of all you, as well as the rest of the members of Dumbledore’s Army. You defended the younger pupils and stood up for what was right. You were an inspiration.”

“We learned it from you, Professor,” Neville said.

Harry thought her eyes looked wet, but the light caught on her square spectacles, and he couldn’t be sure. 

“Well,” she said, clearing her throat. “Run along now. You don’t want to be late for lunch.” Then she gave the Gryffindors one of her rare smiles.

()()()()

Ginny pulled out her DA galleon and tapped it with her wand. _GW LL Lunch_. She had slept till nearly noon, showered, and dressed in clothes from her trunk, which remained right where she had left it before Easter holiday. Given her scene in the common room in the middle of the night, she didn’t fancy rejoining her family, but she was hungry. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate anything; she had merely picked at her food yesterday. The coin warmed in her palm. _Meet in GH_. 

Crossing her fingers that her family had already left the common room, Ginny descended the girls’ staircase, peeked round the open door, breathed a sigh of relief, and made her way through the castle to the Great Hall, where Luna sat at the Ravenclaw table with _Death Omens: What To Do When You Know the Worst Is Coming_ open in front of her. Ginny sat down with her back towards the Gryffindor table and its large cluster of gingers at one end.

“How are you feeling?” Luna closed her book and peered at Ginny with her silvery-gray eyes.

“Better. I didn’t really sleep until almost four. I think Hermione gave me Dreamless Sleep Potion.”

“What’s wrong?”

Ginny paused in reaching for a jacket potato. What wasn’t wrong?

“Something’s bothering you, and it’s not Fred’s death,” Luna said with her typical frankness.

“I yelled at Harry,” Ginny mumbled.

“Because he died without telling you?”

Startled, Ginny looked up. “No. Yes. Sort of.” She dropped the hot potato onto her plate. “Amongst other things.”

Luna nodded and passed the butter. “Yes, I was angry with him about that too.” 

“But not anymore?”

“No. I realized he couldn’t have told us because we wouldn’t have reacted properly to seeing his body. But I think the real reason is he was afraid to say goodbye.”

Ginny frowned, a pat of butter balanced on her knife. “What do you mean, afraid?”

“If Harry were going to say goodbye to anyone, it would have been Ron, Hermione, and you. I think he was afraid if he saw you again, he wouldn’t be able to leave.”

A lump rose in Ginny’s throat as if she had swallowed her potato whole, and she let herself remember the ceasefire. When she had been kneeling beside Alice Toliban and thought she’d heard, or sensed, someone a few feet away. Had it really been Harry underneath his Invisibility Cloak? Had he stopped to see her one last time?

“He’s never going to forgive me,” Ginny moaned, dropping her knife and burying her head in her arms.

“I think Harry would forgive you just about anything.”

Ginny shook her head, still hiding. “I said I was sorry he’d ever asked me to be his girlfriend and I didn’t want him to ask me ever again.”

“Well, that was stupid.” Luna poured herself more pumpkin juice.

Ginny raised her head far enough to glare at Luna.

“What did he say?”

“He just ran off,” Ginny said, her voice muffled by her arms again. “I know I hurt him, and I feel terrible about it.”

“Then tell him so.”

Ginny sat up and sighed. “It’s not that simple, Luna.”

“Why not?” 

Ginny picked at her chicken. “It just isn’t.”

“You’re a very nice person, Ginny, but sometimes you overcomplicate things. You Gryffindors are too emotional.”

Ginny pushed back from the table with a loud screech as the wooden bench dragged across the stone floor. “Too emotional? My brother just died, and my boyfriend came back from the dead! I think I’ve earned the right to be a little emotional!”

Luna looked up at her placidly. “Your family has noticed you.”

Ginny sat back down without looking round, but she could feel the eyes on her back. “Great. That’s just great. Why did you have to push my buttons like that?”

“I wasn’t pushing your buttons. I was stating a fact.”

Ginny was starting to wish she’d had lunch with her family after all. 

“You should eat something. You didn’t eat at all yesterday.”

“How would you know?” Ginny stabbed a piece of chicken with undeserving venom. She _was_ hungry.

“I worried about you, so I watched you,” Luna said simply. 

Ginny looked across the table at her oldest friend. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. Eat your lunch.”

()()()()

“Hello, Luna. Hi, sis. Are you going to eat that?” Without waiting for an answer, Ron reached for Ginny’s last bite of potato. She jabbed at him with her fork, but he was too fast.

“Luna, do you mind giving us a couple of minutes?”

“Oh, are you going to talk to Ginny about her fight with Harry?” Her face was bright with interest.

“Er, yeah, but I wanted to do it in private. No offense.”

“Of course not. You haven’t offended me in a long time, Ron.” Luna picked up her book. “See you later, Ginny.”

“Please don’t yell at me. I feel dreadful already.”

“You should. That was totally uncalled for.”

“You sound like Mum. Oh, Merlin, she didn’t hear it, did she?”

“Not our mum, no. Seamus’s and Neville’s gran, yes.”

Ginny groaned. 

“Look, I know this last year has been hard for you, in more ways than one. Neville told us a bit about what Hogwarts has been like, and I know you were in the thick of it. But it hasn’t been easy for Harry, either.”

“I know that.”

“Then act like it,” Ron said sharply. “Stop acting like he was a selfish git who didn’t give a damn, because nothing could be further from the truth. You have no idea the sacrifices Harry has made this year.”

“That doesn’t give him the right to tell me what to do,” Ginny snapped. What about her sacrifices?

Ron shrugged.

She pushed a few tiny stems of broccoli around with her fork. “I didn’t mean it, that bit at the end. Harry— he knows that, right?”

“Harry hasn’t had a lot of people who cared about him. I think it still surprises him when someone does, and he thought you did.”

She swallowed. “Do you— does he—” The more she thought about what she’d said, the more she realized just how hurtful it had been. “Do you think he could forgive me?”

“He forgave me,” Ron said simply. 

Ginny didn’t know what that meant, exactly, but it was enough for now. “Is he still at the table?”

“Nah, he stayed just long enough to eat and then he left. But Hermione has the Marauder’s Map.”


	6. Chapter Five

Ginny stepped behind a statue on the first floor and tapped the Marauder’s Map with her wand, resisting the flood of memories of doing this with Harry a year ago under vastly more pleasurable circumstances. 

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” At once, the halls and rooms of Hogwarts inked their way across the map. New gaps and broken spaces appeared, places where floors overlapped, staircases dropped off, or walls stopped short of their actual dimensions. When the castle was repaired, hopefully the map would be fully useable again.

“Harry Potter, Harry Potter,” she murmured, searching the dots on the parchment. 

He wasn’t in his dormitory or the Gryffindor common room, but Ginny hadn’t expected him to be easy to find. He wasn’t in the dungeons, or the kitchens, or any of the rooms off the Entrance Hall. 

“Come on, Harry, where are you?” 

She refolded the map to examine another floor when suddenly she knew where he was. 

“Mischief managed,” she whispered, giving the map another tap and tucking it in her pocket.

She jogged down the marble staircase, dodged the debris in the Entrance Hall, ran down the castle steps, and hurried onto the grounds, circling the lake until she came to a brushy section that shielded anyone from view both from the castle and from the other shore. 

“Harry? It’s Ginny. I’ve come to apologize.”

There was no sound other than the gentle lapping of the lake and no movement other than the leaves and a few tendrils of her hair, which were stirred by a light breeze. Ginny pushed a branch out of her way, bent down, and entered the little copse. Harry sat facing the lake and gave no indication that he’d noticed her arrival.

“I’m sorry,” she said at once. “I didn’t mean it, about wishing we were never together, or—” 

What if he wouldn’t forgive her? What if he _didn’t_ ask her again? 

“Or never asking me again.”

He said nothing.

“I know you had to leave. And I know it was too dangerous for you to be in touch with anyone, but it still hurt not to hear from you, to always be strong for everyone else. I was angry and exhausted, and I had just dreamt about you being carried in Hagrid’s arms. It’s no excuse,” she added hastily, seeing his face darken. “I’m just trying to explain why I was so upset. I wanted to talk with you about all that, but I had planned to do it with just the two of us. I’m sorry I yelled at you in front of everyone.”

“You were planning to yell at me in private?” It was fleeting, but she saw his lips twitch, and hope filled her chest like an expanding bubble.

“Something like that.”

Harry said nothing for a long time. He still wouldn’t look at her, and the longer Ginny waited, the more the hopeful bubble shrank. She didn’t know what else to say. If Harry didn’t accept her apology…. 

“You’re not the only one who was worried,” he said. “We had no idea what happened during the attack at Bill’s wedding. We just left, with Death Eaters arriving on every side. I didn’t see you before we Disapparated. You could have already been dead.“ 

“But Dad—“

“Not for hours,” he said sharply. “And he said you were being watched, which was no comfort whatsoever. We didn’t really find out what happened until Lupin arrived at Grimmauld Place days later.” Harry stood and began to pace. 

“And then when Snape became Headmaster—I spent the whole year knowing you were under the control of a _murderer_ , Ginny! Do you have any idea how _that_ felt? Watching your dot on the Marauder’s Map, seeing you not just in lessons or in the Tower, but in the dungeons. Or the hospital wing! Sometimes for hours at a time. Ron would be on watch, or Hermione, and then it would be my turn, and first thing when I was done, I’d check the map, and you were still there. Merlin, do you have any idea the thoughts that went through my head? The kind of shit you can dream up when you’re just sitting in a tent with nothing to do?” He glared at her, the long hair and stubble making his expression fierce.

“I’m sor—“ 

“We heard about you and Neville and Luna trying to steal the sword. Overheard, actually. And I’m standing there, clutching the Extendable Ear, silently begging someone, anyone, to ask about you because they said Snape caught you, but they didn’t say what happened.” Harry pushed his hands through his hair and blew out a breath. “That might have been the longest two minutes of my entire life.”

Ginny didn’t know what to say. She had—after the break-in at the Ministry, she had known _nothing_ about Harry until Easter, when Bill had moved them from the Burrow to Auntie Muriel’s. It had never occurred to her that Harry had news of her; just enough news to be worried sick.

He glanced at her, then away. “You were right about me not having time to get a message to you when we arrived at Shell Cottage. I didn’t even know Bill was leaving until he was already back.” He stopped, his shoulders tense. “I was digging Dobby’s grave.”

Ginny closed her eyes. The bubble of hope was now nothing more than a thin film swishing sickeningly in her stomach. No wonder Ron had been so upset with her. 

“We spent a month planning the Gringotts break-in with Griphook. Right under the nose of a very suspicious employee, I might add. I just didn’t—“

“Think of me,” she said flatly.

“That’s not fair,” Harry said, and though his voice was harsh, he refused to look at her. “Didn’t I just say I followed your dot on the map? I thought of you all the time, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t think about _us_. Not then. Not with—not with everything I had to do. And I won’t apologize for trying to keep you safe. I’ll never be sorry for that.”

Ginny felt the tears coming on and forced them back. She was not going to cry in front of Harry again. “You think I’m being selfish.”

“I think….“ He sighed. “I thought you understood. What about last year, at Dumbledore’s funeral? You said you weren’t surprised I was breaking up with you, that you knew I’d go after Voldemort. You said it was—“ His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. 

“I said maybe it was why I liked you so much,” she whispered. “I haven’t changed my mind, Harry.”

“You haven’t?”

His hopefulness was painful to see, and Ginny remembered what Ron had said about Harry being surprised when someone liked him. She shook her head in answer to his question, her heartbeat increasing as Harry moved closer. 

“I fancied you, Ginny. A lot. I thought you felt the same way.”

He finally met her eyes, and she wished he hadn’t. She had never seen such a wounded, vulnerable expression. Her ginger temper and her big fat mouth!

“I did. I do!” Ginny reached for him, but Harry actually dodged her touch. She swallowed the hurt. “I care about you very much. I was wrong in the common room. I let my temper get the better of me and I’m so sorry. I don’t regret being with you. I never have, I was being stupid. What you said that day … those words have been my lifeline this year. Thinking about … hoping we might have a chance, after all this was over … it’s the only thing that got me through this year.”

He studied her for several moments, then looked out over the lake again.

“So, now what?”

Ginny swallowed against a dry mouth. What if he said no? 

“Can we— can we start over? Like we just started dating and—“

“Is that what you want?”

“Is what what I want?”

“To be boyfriend and girlfriend again.”

Ginny nodded, probably too eagerly, considering that her neck spasmed. “I mean, if you do.” It was first year all over again, the nerves and the clumsiness and the tongue-tying.

“How do I know you’re not going to change your mind?” He crossed his arms. 

She took a deep breath. “You have to trust me, Harry. I’ll work hard to earn your trust, but at some point, you’re going to have to take that step and believe me. I was hurt and angry, and I said things I didn’t mean. You’ve told me your side, I’ve apologized, and now I’m asking you to forgive me.” She loved Harry, but she was not going to beg. Either he would accept her apology and give them a chance, or—

Ginny slammed the door shut on that thought. Harry would forgive her. He had to. _Please, Harry_.

“The next time you’re mad at me, I expect a chance to fight back. To explain. _Without_ an audience.”

She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until it left her in a rush. “I will. I promise.”

He reached out his hand.

()()()()

Ginny and Harry climbed through the portrait hole and found Ron and Hermione sitting side by side on a sofa. They looked—different, somehow. Ginny turned to Harry.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“About them!” She waved her hand at Ron and Hermione.

Harry looked at the two of them, then back to her. “Oh. Well, it just happened.”

“I don’t believe it,” Ginny said.

“It’s true,” Hermione said, leaning into Ron’s shoulder. His ears turned pink, and both of them smiled. They did look quite cozy together.

“Huh-uh. I don’t believe it, and I’m not going to believe it unless you kiss. A proper kiss.” 

“Ginny,” Hermione said, glancing round the busy common room. “There are people here.”

“That didn’t stop you before,” Harry said.

“That’s different,” Hermione said. 

“Now.” Ginny crossed her arms. She would get the full story out of Hermione later.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, and Ginny watched as they did a silent communication she had seen many times before. But this time, Hermione’s expression softened, and when Ron leaned in, she tipped her face up. 

“Now look what you’ve done,” Harry accused as the kiss continued. “They won’t come up for ages.”

Ginny saw the moment Ron and Hermione forgot where they were and cleared her throat. Then again.

“Oi!” Harry said sharply.

Hermione jerked away, very pink in the face. Ron’s arm slid round her waist. They beamed, so happy that watching them made Ginny’s heart hurt.

“Believe us now?” Ron said smugly.

“Yeah,” Ginny said, her voice husky. She forced herself to smile lest Ron and Hermione misinterpret the tears that threatened. “It’s about damn time.”

“Well, we’ve been waiting for you two,” Ron said. “Go get your stuff. We’re going home.”

()()()()

Harry and Ron sat on the floor in Ron’s bedroom at the Burrow, leaning back against their respective beds with Hermione between them. Crookshanks lay in her lap, purring like a furry ginger engine. It seemed impossible that only seventy-two hours ago they had been at Shell Cottage, finalizing the plans for their assault on Gringotts.

Harry broke the awkward silence. “You cut your hair.”

Hermione reached up and fingered the shortened strands that now just brushed her shoulders. “I had to. It was burnt pretty badly.”

The silence stretched again, heavy with memories.

“What time do we need to be at Hogwarts tomorrow?” Harry said.

Ron’s brow wrinkled. “For what?”

“For the cleanup,” Harry said. “You put our names down, right?”

“I did. They’re supposed to set up teams over the next few days and owl us with the information.”

Harry frowned. “But the castle was a complete wreck. Surely they can use help immediately.”

“You can’t just repair the castle at random, though,” Hermione said. “They’ll have to find the blueprints, the notes on the protective spells, strengthen the structure itself before they work on the cosmetic stuff.”

“Well, we could at least help out on the grounds. Clear up the damage from the giants, maybe help Professor Sprout with the vegetable gardens and the greenhouses.”

“It’s not your responsibility to clean the entire battlefield, Harry,” Ron said.

“Nobody will blame you for taking a few days off,” Hermione said. “You just went through an incredibly traumatic experience. You died!”

Harry picked at the frayed hem of the blanket hanging over the edge of his camp bed. They didn’t understand. The castle _was_ his responsibility; it was his choices that had brought the Battle to Hogwarts, that had delayed past Voldemort’s deadline.

“Not tomorrow, okay?” Ron said. “We’ll go with you in a few days, but … I want to stay with my family for a bit.”

The guilt and grief rushed up from nowhere, overwhelming Harry. Of course Ron wanted to be home; his brother had just died…. 

“I have all your stuff,” Hermione said with forced brightness, digging in her omnipresent beaded bag. “Your rucksack—“ Out came the bag Harry had packed nearly a year ago with his most prized possessions. “Your clothes—“ Out came several stacks of folded clothing. “And your books.” She added a couple of books to the stack. “You have the Cloak and the mokeskin pouch, right?”

He nodded. “And Ginny gave me the map.” As Hermione pulled Ron’s belongings out of the bag, Harry said, “That charm you put on the bag was brilliant. We never would have made it without you, Hermione— the supplies, the tent, the dittany. Godric’s Hollow, Malfoy Manor, all your research about the Horcruxes…. Thank you. Truly.”

She added a final pair of maroon socks to Ron’s stack of clothing. “You know you’re very welcome, Harry.”

Harry looked to Ron but hadn’t even opened his mouth when Ron said, “Don’t even start, mate. That’s what friends are for.”

“You two have gone above and beyond the call of friendship.”

Hermione smirked. “We did that a long time ago.” 

“And we’ll keep doing it for as long as you need us,” Ron said.

Harry took a deep breath and tried to lighten the mood. “There go my plans for a quiet and peaceful life.”

Ron snorted. “You’d be dead bored and looking for trouble inside of a week.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t go looking for trouble—“

“Trouble usually finds you,” Hermione and Ron said together, and the three of them laughed.


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I'm doing a rotten job of updating on Wednesdays as promised. Vacation, work, other RL stuff--but I'm working ahead at uploading chapters and will try to do better :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!

One thing Charlie did not miss about living at home was waiting for the toilet. The bathroom door was firmly shut, Burrow code for “occupied,” so he leaned against the wall of the landing to wait. He hadn’t slept much. He had thought, given everything that had happened, he would sleep like the dead when he finally—

That was the problem. Everything reminded him of Fred. Being in the Gryffindor common room, flash back to nearly a decade ago, ignoring the shenanigans of eleven-year-old twins. The Great Hall, watching Fred’s Sorting. McGonagall and the look on her face when she realized she was getting two more Weasley boys at the same time. An old tapestry, and catching Fred and George coming out of a secret passageway his first night on prefect duty. A dual-colored taffy on top of his pillow last night, placed there who knows how long ago in anticipation of his next visit home. His last visit home, when he had seen the twins’ joke shop for the first time and Fred had shown him their Defense Against the Dark Arts line, his blue eyes glowing with enthusiasm. 

The bathroom door opened, and Charlie looked into the same blue eyes. He was astonished to see that George was completely dressed. “Where are you going?”

“Hogwarts.”

“Ho— what for?”

“Did you see the castle? It’s a disaster.”

“I know, but—“

“McGonagall asked for volunteers to help clear up.”

“I know,” Charlie repeated, “but don’t you think—“

“I can’t sit here and do nothing,” George said. “We don’t even know when— I can’t just sit around and wait. At least there I can do something useful.”

“All right. Have you had breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well, I am. Give me a chance to change and make a sandwich, and I’ll go with you.”

George hesitated.

“It’s barely daylight, George. Ten minutes, okay?”

George nodded, and Charlie stepped into the bathroom and leaned his head against the closed door.

Everything was going to remind him of Fred today.

()()()()

Life at the Burrow settled into a hollow routine. Ron and Hermione recovered from their “camping trip,” as Ron called it, relatively quickly, but Harry did little more than sleep and eat. After the first few days, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny spent most of their afternoons at Hogwarts, clearing debris and making simple repairs before returning home for dinner. Sometimes they were joined by Bill, Fleur, Charlie, or Mr. Weasley; always by Percy; and George worked at the castle from daylight to dark.

Evenings were the worst, when the comfortable, shabby sitting room was packed with people yet remained lifeless. Mrs. Weasley took her meals in her room, but George hardly ate at all. Charlie moved from one sibling to another, talking quietly, playing chess, or taking turns staring at a section of the _Daily Prophet_. Ginny stepped into her mother’s shoes, taking over the cooking, cleaning, and laundry. Percy sat with the family but did not join in unless spoken to directly. Ron and Mr. Weasley spent a lot of time with the Muggle objects in Mr. Weasley’s shed. Hermione knitted two dozen elf hats in less than a week, then started on a layette for Teddy. Bill and Fleur usually stopped by for a few hours, but their departure only reinforced the gloom that had settled over the crooked house. Harry caught himself looking out the windows, expecting to see the shadowy mist that indicated the presence of breeding Dementors. 

It was on one such evening, several days after the Battle, that the family was startled out of their lethargy by the sound of Ginny shrieking in the kitchen.

“It’s all right,” she called. “It’s only an owl.”

Harry heard a soft hoot and the sound of owl pellets shaken into a bowl. 

“Dad.” Ginny stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the sitting room, an official-looking scroll in her hand. “It’s for you and Mum. From the Ministry for Magic.”

Everyone watched as Mr. Weasley laid aside the paper, opened the letter, and read it. “They’ve set the date for Fred’s funeral,” he said, his voice shaking slightly. “It’s Sunday, at two. The full list of services will be printed in the _Daily Prophet_ tomorrow. I should— I should tell your mother.”

Ron threw down the remote control he had been fiddling with and stormed out of the room.

“Ron,” Hermione cried, jumping up and following him. “Ron!”

Harry looked in Ginny’s direction but saw only a wildly swinging door. Bill and Charlie were on either side of Percy, who sat with hands clenched and head bowed. Feeling helpless, useless, Harry climbed the stairs to bed.

()()()()

He was awakened by a knock on Ron’s door.

“It’s me,” came Hermione’s voice. “May I come in?”

He opened the door with his wand. “Where’s Ron?”

“With George,” Hermione said, flinging the blankets over Ron’s unmade bed and sitting down. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Don’t, Harry. Don’t pretend with me.”

He laid back, watching the 1993 Chudley Cannons zoom across their season calendar poster. “I don’t know what to say,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how to help them.”

“Me either,” Hermione sighed. 

“But you went after Ron. What did you do?”

She shrugged. “Listened, mostly. Pretended not to notice he was crying. Talked about how Fred changed the covers on all my books the first summer I was at the Burrow. Remember?”

Harry did. Fred had been horrified that Hermione was planning to bring schoolwork to the Quidditch World Cup and switched the covers on her books every few days. Hermione had been furious; too young to do magic outside of school and too rule-obsessed to break the law, she hadn’t changed them back until they got on the Hogwarts Express.

“How’s Ginny?”

“Ask her yourself,” Hermione said, a bit sharply. 

Harry continued watching the Cannons fly (not very smoothly) across February, March, and April.

“To be honest, she’s a bit hurt that you’re avoiding her.”

“I’m not avoiding her. We’ve spent every afternoon together.”

“With me and Ron and everyone else at Hogwarts, and the rest of the time you’re asleep. No one begrudges you the extra rest, Harry, but Ginny thought you had worked things out at Hogwarts, and now….”

“I don’t know what to say,” he mumbled again.

“So, let Ginny talk. She’s much better at it than you, anyway.”

Harry heard the smile in her voice and rolled to face her. “What if she wants to talk about Fred?”

“Then talk about Fred! I’m sure you have a lot of memories that are different from hers.”

Harry hesitated. “What if she cries?”

“Then hold her. Maybe conjure her a handkerchief. She lost her brother and a lot of other people she cared about. She needs to know you’re there for her.”

He did want to be there for her; more than anything, Harry wanted to help Ginny through this. “Hold her and listen. That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Hermione said.

“You’re sure?”

“If you try it and it doesn’t work, I’ll come up with something else,” she promised.

()()()()

Ginny’s bed was empty. Remembering that her window overlooked the orchard, Harry crossed her room and pushed back the curtain. Someone was flying a broomstick, someone with long hair streaming in the moonlight. 

Ginny landed when she saw him coming, and Harry joined her in the soft grass.

“Nice night,” he offered.

“I love flying at night. My brothers wouldn’t let me fly with them, so it’s how I learned.”

Harry decided to risk Hermione’s advice. “Fred and George were impressed by that, you know.”

She smiled. “Yeah. I was always sorry I never got to play with them. For Gryffindor, I mean.”

“They would have loved that. Zacharias Smith might have had something to say about it, though, if there were _four_ Weasleys on the team.”

“Git,” Ginny muttered. “He nearly trampled some of the younger kids trying to get out of the Room of Requirement.”

“I saw him pushing and shoving his way out of the Great Hall.” He knew he needed to tell Ginny everything, but they had to start somewhere. “Where did you go when we went back into the Room of Requirement?”

“Looking for Fred and George. I knew they would let me fight with them.”

“And you found George first?” Ginny had been nowhere in sight when Fred and Percy appeared in the corridor off the Room of Requirement.

She nodded. “I was with him when … we found out together.” 

Their hands lay side by side in the grass. Harry moved his just enough to brush hers, and she seized it in a tight grip.

“How— how did it happen?”

He turned to look at her, surprised. “You don’t know?”

“I didn’t want to upset Percy or Ron by asking.”

“He was dueling. He and Percy, and we— me and Ron and Hermione— we had just come out of the Room of Requirement, and we ran to help. Percy’s attacker’s hood slipped, and he recognized Thicknesse. Percy made a crack about resigning and Fred laughed, and then the wall of the castle was blown in. It wasn’t Percy’s fault, it wasn’t that Fred let down his guard, it just happened. The hallway exploded, rubble and dust were everywhere, and— and— that’s it.”

Ginny turned on her side to face him, and Harry saw her eyes were wet with tears. 

“I’m so sorry, Ginny,” he whispered.

“Me too.”

“No, I mean … the cease fire. The ultimatum. If I had gone earlier, before midnight—“

“Would Voldemort be dead?”

Harry blinked. Ginny had that hard, blazing look on her face again. 

“I— I don’t know. Ron and Hermione knew what was necessary, but … no. No, if I hadn’t taken the time to— to do what needed to be done, I don’t think we could have killed Voldemort that night.”

“Then don’t apologize. We knew— a whole family of Gryffindors, no family on our mother’s side after the first war, half of us in the Order, the other half in the DA— we knew what was at stake. We knew it would be a miracle if all of us survived.”

“I wish—“

“You brought Ron and Hermione back to me. You brought _you_ back to me. You rescued Luna. You defeated Tom Riddle. You did more than enough, Harry Potter.” 

She kissed him briefly, chastely, and the sweetness of her touch, of her forgiveness, washed over him like rain. Harry was surprised but pleased when she moved closer and rested her head on his shoulder.

“He is dead, right?”

“What?”

“Tom. He’s really dead this time?” She raised up, and something in her eyes reminded him of a small, black-robed figure lying between the feet of an ancient, monkey-like statue. “He’s not coming back?”

Harry met her gaze squarely. “No, Ginny. He’s never coming back.”

She settled against his shoulder again and they stayed like that for a long time, staring up at the night sky as Harry breathed in the sweet, flowery scent of her hair. 

()()()()

“Kind of like old times, eh?” Charlie said.

Bill shrugged. He and Charlie lay on the roof of their bedroom at the Burrow. As the family grew, new stories and roofs and chimneys were added around this section but never exactly on top of it, resulting in a private sanctuary that provided the oldest boys a place to escape the chaos of their siblings. Arriving on the roof by Apparition (and having a drink with the brothers old enough to do so) had become something of a rite of passage for the Weasley boys. It went without saying that the first floor roof was Bill and Charlie’s spot, and the younger ones were not allowed without invitation.

“Remember when we brought Fred and George up here for the first time?” Bill said. “Three summers ago, when you came home before the first Order meeting?”

Charlie laughed. “And Fred landed in the chimney, and George tried to get him out with a summoning charm, and—“

“And Percy yelled at both of them for not even being drunk yet?”

Both men smiled at the memory, then sobered. That had been the night before Percy’s row with Dad and resulting split from the family.

“I can’t believe it was Fred,” Bill said, staring up at the stars. “I knew we weren’t going to come out of this war unscathed, not with nine of us, but … I just can’t believe it was Fred.”

“I thought it was going to be Ron. Best mates with Harry Potter, what was he thinking?”

Bill nodded even though he knew Charlie couldn’t see him in the darkness. “Me too. You know what Ron’s like. Once he takes someone’s side he never gives up.” No one else knew that Ron had left Harry and Hermione last autumn, and as far as Bill was concerned, that was Ron’s news to tell. 

Bill swallowed. He’d never admitted this out loud, not even to Fleur, fearful that saying it would make it true. Even now, even knowing it was over, it was hard to say. “Or Gin-Gin, if the war went on long enough.”

“Shit,” Charlie breathed, and Bill was oddly reassured to know Charlie had worried about the same thing. “Do you think she’s really in love with him? I mean—“

“Not her old childhood crush? I don’t know. But if what she said that he said last year is true, then he’s in love with her. Or he was, at least.” Bill frowned, not at all certain how he felt about his sister and Potter together.

Charlie sighed. “He’d be a fool not to love her. I can’t believe she’s nearly seventeen.”

“I can’t believe _Ron_ is seventeen.”

“Eighteen.”

“Don’t remind me,” Bill said.

“We should bring him up here. Ron. Me, and you, and Percy, and George. We didn’t get a chance last summer.”

“Do you think George would do it without Fred?” 

“I think he would do it for Ron,” Charlie said.

“Maybe.” Next to Fred, Ron was George’s closest brother.

Charlie swore suddenly. Bill ignored both the stream of profanity and the tears behind the words.

“Did you see Mum and Bellatrix Lestrange?”

Charlie sniffed. “I think that might have been the most scared I have ever been in my entire life, and that includes the time I got trapped between a Chinese Fireball and her hatchlings.”

“I couldn’t believe it but I wasn’t surprised, all at the same time,” Bill said.

“Well, I’ll tell you this— the next time Mum wants to cut my hair, I’m not going to argue with her,” Charlie said, and Bill laughed.


	8. Chapter Seven

Harry set his wheelbarrow against the wall with the others and wiped his brow. The weather outside was mild, but something was wrong with the atmospheric charms; he estimated it was a good eighty-five degrees in the Great Hall. It had been a long afternoon clearing rubble from the outside steps, the Entrance Hall, and the Great Hall. Initially they had maneuvered the wheelbarrows with locomotor charms, but they switched to pushing them after Mrs. Norris’s tail was run over by an unfortunate fifth-year Ravenclaw (Filch shouted himself hoarse threatening to ban the boy from Hogsmeade for life and only calmed down when Professor Sinistra offered to take the cat to Madame Pomfrey). Everyone was covered in soot; another team of volunteers scrubbed the walls of the Entrance Hall and the marble staircase, and it had been impossible to cross the hall without being showered in black dust. 

Hermione waved to him from the single table in the center of the Great Hall, and Harry joined her and Ron. They had gone with a group of Hufflepuffs to help Hagrid in the vegetable gardens and the greenhouses. From the looks of it, Ron and Hermione had wrestled snargaluff trees … and lost. Hermione’s face was surrounded by damp curls despite her ponytail, her face and arms were streaked with dirt, as were Ron’s, and Ron had a cut on one cheek. Harry reached over and pulled a flitterbloom leaf from Hermione’s bushy hair.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry,” Harry said, using both hands to free the leaf, then laying it on the table in front of her.

“Honestly,” she said, picking up the leaf and shredding it. “Hagrid is as clueless about dangerous plants as he is monsters.”

Before Harry could question her further or ask where Ginny was, McGonagall stood up at the other end of the table.

“Thank you all for your hard work. Please be certain to place all your tools and equipment back where you found them. We do not want to waste the first half of tomorrow clearing up from today. You are dismissed.”

There was the usual chatter and clamor of benches on stone as everyone began filing out of the Great Hall. Harry scanned the crowd for Ginny’s bright hair and spotted her ahead of him, exiting through the side doors with Luna. He caught up with her next to the marble staircase.

“How did you two stay so clean?”

“We helped Slughorn brew potions for Madame Pomfrey,” Ginny said. “She said it made her nervous not to have at least a basic emergency supply.”

“Ron, where are you going? Harry and Ginny are right over there.”

Ron tugged Hermione by the hand. “Just come upstairs with me for a minute.”

“Whatever for?” Hermione pushed several loose strands of hair behind one ear. Her hair seemed even more uncontrollable since she had cut it. 

Ron glanced at Harry, Ginny, and Luna, who had been joined by Neville, then around the still-crowded Entrance Hall.

“Well, if you must know, Miss Nosy, I have no intentions of leaving this castle yet again without _finally_ snogging you somewhere inside it.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped, then she turned pink as the DA members within hearing distance catcalled. “We can’t—I can’t—but—“

Ron scanned the crowd. “Oi, Macmillan! What’s the password to the prefects’ bathroom?”

“Ron!”

Harry and Neville laughed. Ginny whistled. The whole hall was watching now.

“It’s ‘spic and span,’ ” Ernie said. “But why wait?”

“ _Ernie_!” 

If possible, Hermione sounded even more scandalized. Harry turned around and saw Ernie rubbing his side. Apparently he’d just received a sound elbow in the ribs from Susan Bones, who stood beside him. 

“Tell me you do not want to take a bath right now,” Ron said, taking in her disheveled appearance.

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it, looking mutinous, and Harry knew Ron had won. She dropped Ron’s hand and marched up the stairs.

A low chant started near the door and quickly grew in volume. “Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!”

“Come on, Ron,” George called from beside the empty hourglasses. “We listened to you two row for years. You owe us!”

There was a roar of approval from the seventh years of all houses and Gryffindors of all ages. Hermione turned abruptly. She was still ahead of Ron, but even with the extra height, all Harry could see was the back of Ron’s head and Hermione’s hand on his neck.

“You’re wrong,” Hermione said, breaking the kiss and continuing up the stairs as if she didn’t have an enthusiastic audience. “We have kissed in this castle.”

“That doesn’t count,” Ron said, stretching out a long leg and jumping to the landing.

“What do you mean, that doesn’t count?” Hermione said indignantly.

They turned to climb the next flight of stairs and disappeared from sight.

“Do you think they’ll stop arguing before they reach the fifth floor?” Ginny said.

She was grinning as broadly as Harry. With everything that had gone wrong in the last week, with most of Hogwarts visibly scarred, it felt refreshingly normal to see Ron and Hermione bickering in its halls.

“I doubt it,” he said dryly.

“I hope not,” Luna said. Harry, Ginny, and Neville looked at her. “Well, they’ve always squabbled because they liked each other. I don’t want them to stop liking each other.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, Luna,” Ginny said. “Ron knows I’ll kill him if he screws this up.”

()()()()

Ginny had just given the worktop a final swipe with the dishcloth when Hermione pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. 

“Sit down, you two,” she said to Harry and Ginny. “Ron and I need to talk to you.”

Ginny turned around, pleased to be included. She took the seat across from Hermione, who looked directly at her.

“Last summer, I modified my parents’ memories, gave them a new identity that didn’t include having a daughter, and sent them to Australia.”

Ginny’s mouth fell open. She did _what_? “Hermione,” she finally managed. “You— you made your parents forget about you?”

She nodded. “To keep them—and us—safe. I had told them quite a bit about Harry over the years, and I didn’t want the Death Eaters questioning them.”

“I—I get that, but … did you tell them?”

Hermione looked confused. “Tell them what?”

“That you were going to modify their memories!”

Now Hermione gaped. “Of course not! What if they didn’t agree?”

“What if they never forgive you?” Ginny retorted.

“That’s enough,” Ron said, putting an arm round Hermione’s shoulders. “We didn’t think we were coming back. Hermione focused on giving her parents a good life without her.”

Ginny said nothing else. Ron was giving her the “if you want to be included, you’ll do as I say” look.

“You want to go to Australia and get them,” Harry said.

Hermione nodded. “After the funerals. Fred’s, Colin’s, and Lupin and Tonks’s are all early next week.”

“What about Professor Snape’s?”

“Snape’s?” Ginny said in astonishment, but Harry held up his hand.

“I’ll tell you later,” he said without looking at her.

Ginny bit back her retort. Being included didn’t mean she fit in.

Hermione and Ron glanced at each other, and Ginny knew before they spoke that they disagreed.

“I think we should stay,” Ron said. “Snape was on our side the whole time. He really was a member of the Order. He gave us the sword of Gryffindor. He sent the silver doe. If he’d never done that, you might not have left the protective charms, Harry, and it could have been ages before I caught you up.”

Harry shifted his gaze to Hermione, and Ginny thought there was a little accusation in it. Apparently Hermione did too, for her voice was apologetic and pleading.

“I know, Harry, but his funeral isn’t until Saturday. That’s almost a whole week after the others. I want to meet with Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick by Wednesday, and I’m going to try to arrange for an international Portkey on Friday or Saturday. We could actually be in Australia by that time.”

Harry frowned. “I can’t leave that soon,” he said. “I want to make sure I attend at least the services of everyone in the DA and the Order, and I’d like to go to the rest of the pupils’ funerals too.”

“I know, Harry. That’s why Ron is coming with me.”

Ginny watched the two boys exchange looks. Harry looked back to Hermione.

“You’re sure? Because I’m happy to go with you. I’ll do anything you need.“

“We’ll need someone to prepare the house and meet us at the airport if— if I can reverse the charm.”

“You’ll reverse it,” Ron said confidently. “You cast it correctly, and you’ll be able to reverse it without damage.”

“I hope so,” Hermione said in a small voice.

Regretting her impulsive words earlier, Ginny reached across the table and squeezed Hermione’s hand. “Of course you will. Nobody’s better with a wand than you.”

“Well, whatever you need, consider it done,” Harry said, and Ginny nodded fervently. “Do you still have your building society savings?”

“I do, but I don’t think it will be enough for our expenses and four tickets home from Australia….”

“Consider it done,” Harry repeated firmly. 

“What kind of tickets?” Ginny said.

“We’ll have to fly back with my parents in an airplane,” Hermione said. “I can’t bring them by Portkey or Apparition.”

Ginny turned to her brother and raised one eyebrow. “You’re going to fly in one of those things?”

“Hermione says they’re safer than cars,” Ron said, but his unease was obvious.

“That’s true,” Harry said. “What else do you need?”

“I sent an owl to McGonagall and Flitwick yesterday after the funeral schedule came out. Once I know when they can meet with me, then I can finalize our travel date. I already have the international Portkey application.”

“You’re not going to Apparate?” Ginny said. She still hadn’t learned to Apparate (the Carrows had forbidden Apparition lessons for the sixth years) and thought she would do so at every opportunity if she knew how. Her heart pinged. Like Fred had that first summer he was of age.

“We could, but we would have to hop all the way across Europe, Asia, and the Pacific Islands. This way we’ll take a Portkey to Dubai, one to Karratha, on the western coast of Australia, and then in to Canberra, the capital. I’m going to try to find Mum and Dad in the dental registry. I think— I’m pretty sure I didn’t do anything that would prevent them from practicing.” Her forehead wrinkled. “I hope not, at least.”

“Have you told Mum and Dad?” Ginny asked.

“They’re next,” Ron said.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Harry said. “I could come later, after….”

Hermione shook her head. “I love you for offering, Harry, but no. You’re needed here, and that’s okay.”

“You promise to let me know if you need anything? Either of you?”

“We promise.” 

Ginny pulled Hermione aside as they left the kitchen. “I want you to know I’ll help however I can, but I can’t go with you. I don’t have any of my own money, and Mum needs my help.”

Hermione looked surprised. “Oh, Ginny, don’t worry about that.”

“I’m sorry about what I said. I can’t imagine how difficult that was.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said quietly. “You should stay here with your family, and with Harry. They need you more than I do.”

Ginny studied her friend’s face. “You’ll let me know if I can do anything?”

“I will. I think—“ Hermione blushed and looked away, towards where Ron had disappeared on the landing above. “I think some time with just me and Ron would be good for us.”

Ginny leaned back against the wall and grinned. “I’m sure it would.”

“It’s not like that,” Hermione protested, but it was weak, especially for her.

“Well, Harry might not have noticed you and Ron slipping away every morning, but I have.”

Hermione opened her mouth but Ginny overran her.

“I think it’s brilliant and you know it. The pictures I’ve seen of Australia are beautiful. You should take some time for the two of you. Like a holiday.”

“I’ve thought of that too,” Hermione admitted, “but I’m so anxious about my parents, I don’t know if—“

“Oh, I’m sure Ron would come up with something,” Ginny said airily, and was rewarded with Hermione’s laughter.

()()()()

When Ginny opened her bedroom door that night, Harry waited for her in the hall.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Think you can keep up?”

“I’ll manage,” he said dryly.

They left the house in silence, and it wasn’t until Harry just stood at the entrance to the broom shed that Ginny remembered. “You don’t have a broomstick, do you?”

He shook his head.

“Here.” Ginny ducked a large cobweb and pulled two broomsticks forward before settling on a third. “We don’t have anything like a Firebolt, but try this. It should fly straight, at least. It’s Charlie’s old broom, the one he used when he was playing at Hogwarts.”

“Thanks.”

“Last one to the other side is a flobberworm!” Ginny shouted, and kicked off into the sky.

“Hey, that’s cheating!” 

It wasn’t long before Harry’s outline appeared beside her, bent over his broomstick as they raced neck and neck for the forked tree at the opposite end of the orchard. Ginny edged in front of him at the last minute, forcing Harry to back off as she sailed around the landmark.

“Cheater,” Harry accused again.

Ginny put on her innocent face. 

“Best two out of three,” Harry said.

“You’re on!” 

She loved flying with Harry; she loved flying under any circumstances. She edged her broom closer to his, but Harry pushed back this time, crossing dangerously close underneath her and making a hairpin turn several yards short of the apple trees that marked this side of the makeshift pitch.

“Now who’s cheating?” she yelled, but she looped and followed, cutting inside and coming ahead of him again as he circled the forked tree. 

They made many more than three runs down the pitch. Ginny’s hands were numb on her broomstick handle by the time they landed, breathless, underneath the blooming apple trees.

“I miss flying,” Harry said, dropping the broomstick and sitting down with his back against a tree trunk.

“Me too.” Ginny copied his position against the tree opposite.

“No Quidditch this year?”

She shook her head. “No nothing, basically. If it was fun or interesting, the Carrows banned it.”

Harry closed his eyes. 

“Knut for your thoughts,” Ginny whispered, quietly enough that he could ignore her if he chose.

He opened his eyes; she caught their reflection in the moonlight that filtered through the trees.

“I was thinking about Teddy.”

“Teddy? Tonks and Remus’s baby?” After the conversation with Ron and Hermione, she had hoped he would tell her about Snape.

He nodded. “Remus asked me to be godfather.”

Ginny felt a sharp stab of fear before remembering this was not the proper response to such news. “That’s great, Harry. Congratulations.” But he wasn’t— He didn’t mean— He wasn’t going to take the baby full-time, was he? Not now, not when they finally had a chance to make a real relationship. Not before his eighteenth birthday!

“But how— when did Lupin ask you?”

Harry described that night at Shell Cottage, Lupin’s jubilation, the way the news lifted everyone’s spirits and took them away from the war for a little while. 

“I’m just— I want to be there for him. Sirius didn’t get the chance to do that for me until I was thirteen. Well, I guess you could say he never had the chance to really be my godfather. Not the way we wanted.”

Ginny sat quietly, hoping Harry would go on. He almost never mentioned Sirius except to relay some anecdote of their time at Grimmauld Place.

“Did you know he asked me to move in with him?”

“Sirius did?”

Harry nodded. “The night Pettigrew escaped. When we were going back to the castle, when Pettigrew was still tied up and we thought we could clear Sirius’s name, he offered to let me come and live with him, if I wanted.” It was obvious from his voice that he had wanted that more than anything. 

“At Grimmauld Place?”

“I don’t think so. I think he meant somewhere new. Maybe somewhere close to Remus.”

Ginny’s throat ached. Harry had lost so very, very much. She swallowed.

“But Teddy has a home, right? I mean, I’m sure Mrs. Tonks will want to raise him.”

“I reckon so. But I want to help. Maybe take him to the zoo, or babysit over the weekend. When he’s a little older.”

She took a slow, quiet breath, feeling some of the immediate anxiety leave her. “That sounds nice. She’s a lot older than most mums. I’m sure she would appreciate a break now and then.” 

The wind kicked up and Ginny shivered. Harry noticed and stood up.

“It’s cold out here. Let’s go in.”

“I’m all right.” She preferred staying out here with Harry where she could think about something else, talk about something else. Once she went to bed, thoughts of Fred filled her mind, and when she tried to think about other things, her brain just shifted between various bodies in the Great Hall, like some sick game of musical chairs that never ended. With the funeral tomorrow, she knew tonight would be worse.

But Harry reached down and pulled her up. Ginny went with him into the house, unable to explain that the cold followed her everywhere she went.


	9. Chapter Eight

Harry was not surprised to find no one eating when he entered the kitchen the morning of Fred’s funeral. Ginny stood at the stove, frying bacon and eggs even though the platters on the table were untouched. The morning dragged interminably, and no one even attempted lunch. Shortly after one, Harry, Hermione, the Weasley children, and Fleur waited in the sitting room for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to come downstairs. When they appeared at last, Harry noticed Mrs. Weasley wore the midnight blue hat Fred and George had given her for Christmas two years before.

They left the little house and walked through the garden, past the orchard to the open field beyond where rows of white chairs were lined up in front of a casket, beside which stood the tufty-haired wizard who had presided at Dumbledore’s funeral and Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Like both of those events, it was a glorious day: clear sky and shining sun. Harry felt it was an insult and a tribute all at once. With Fred dead, the whole world should be mourning; but yet, it was for Fred, and he had always brought light and sunshine and laughter wherever he went, so the sky could do nothing but smile on them. 

The seats filled quickly. Harry saw many familiar faces: Lee Jordan, Angelina Johnson, and Alicia Spinnet, fellow Gryffindors in Fred’s year. Oliver Wood and Katie Bell from Quidditch. Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, Hagrid, Madame Hooch, and even Nearly Headless Nick from Hogwarts. Shopkeepers from Diagon Alley. Mr. Perkins, the wizard who had worked with Mr. Weasley in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. Kingsley Shacklebolt. Mrs. Tonks with Teddy. Neville and his grandmother. Hestia Jones, Mundungus Fletcher, and Elphias Doge, fellow members of the Order of the Phoenix. Amy Green, who had come all the way from Egypt. Luna and Mr. Lovegood. Mr. and Mrs. Diggory. Harry saw a long row of DA members and realized the rest of the guests were blurred not due to their distance from him, but his tears. He faced forward again. Beside him, Ron sat impossibly straight, and on his other side, Ginny and Hermione held hands.

It was a long service, made longer still by the moving speech from Lee, George’s near collapse halfway through that resulted in Charlie and Ron each supporting him under one arm, and Mrs. Weasley’s uncontrollable sobs as the casket was closed over Fred’s body. Beside him, Harry could feel Ron shaking with his own tears as Charlie escorted George from the clearing. Bill had his arm round Percy’s shoulders, their heads bent close together, and Harry was glad he was still sitting when Ron turned and flung himself onto his shoulder. Harry swallowed his own grief, patting Ron on the back and wondering what to do next, when Hermione stepped over Ginny and wedged her way between him and Ron.

“Come on, Ron, let’s go,” Hermione said, and Harry could tell from her voice that she was crying too. “It’s over now, let’s go, love. I’ve got you, that’s it….”

Harry knew before he turned around that Ginny was gone.

()()()()

“Mum?” Ginny opened the door to her parents’ bedroom and peered round it. “Mum, can I come in? It’s Ginny.”

Ginny had not seen her mother since the very end of the— she closed her eyes and made herself think it— since the end of Fred’s funeral, when her mother had broken down and her father had carried her away. It was the singularly most awful day of Ginny’s life: worse than the Chamber, worse than seeing Harry land in front of the maze with Cedric’s body, somehow even worse than the day of the Battle, when Fred had died. She had known her brother was dead, had cried over his body, but still, there was something so permanent— so final— about a casket in a grave. She shook herself slightly and took a couple of steps into the room.

“Mum? I fixed you some tea and toast.” She set the tray on her mother’s bedside cabinet and sat on the edge of the bed. Mum was awake, lying on her side, staring at nothing. The weight in Ginny’s stomach morphed from grief to fear.

“Mum? It’s me, Ginny.” She shook her shoulder gently, then bent down into her line of sight. “Mummy?”

Mum’s eyes moved slightly to focus on her face. “Ginny.”

“Yes, Mummy, it’s me.” Ginny smiled and reached for the cup and saucer. “I brought you some tea. Can you sit up?”

Mum blinked once, twice. “Is it tea time already?”

Ginny forced the fear down with a hard swallow. “It’s after dinner, actually. Come on, let’s sit up.” She rearranged the pillows and helped Mum into a sitting position, relieved when a few sips of tea put a little color into her face.

“Come sit beside me,” Mum said, patting the middle of the bed, and Ginny complied. “How are you?”

“I’m okay.”

Mum set down her tea and began stroking Ginny’s hair, just like when she was a little girl. Ginny allowed herself to lean into her mother’s embrace and closed her eyes. Maybe she would stay here, with Mummy, just for a little while….

()()()()

It was over. The longest week of Bill’s life, the wait for his brother’s funeral, was finally over. The dozens of guests had left, Mum and Dad were in their room, and his siblings were clumped in the kitchen, silent and miserable. He had sent Fleur home to Shell Cottage straight after dinner, and Harry and Hermione had been tactful enough to disappear. Bill gathered up all the Firewhisky in the sideboard, stacked six glasses onto his palm, and walked through the kitchen and straight out the back door without stopping. Turning on the spot, he landed on the Burrow’s roof. With a series of pops, his brothers joined him. 

Bill was pouring the third—or was it the fourth?—round when Ginny appeared. It was not the extra glass held out for refilling that caught his attention, although it should have been (he only had four brothers now), but rather the delicate hand holding it. He followed the hand up a graceful arm into the set, tearstained face of his baby sister. She had Mum’s eyes, but Godric, she looked like the twins.

“He was my brother too.”

Bill felt a twinge of guilt. He had chosen the roof because he couldn’t stand to be confined inside the house tonight, but Ginny couldn’t Apparate yet and might think he was deliberately trying to exclude her. He glanced round, wondering how she got up here, and noticed her broomstick in her other hand. She shoved the shot glass against his chest.

“Don’t even think about trying to keep up,” he warned, and poured a shy finger of amber liquid.

She tossed the entire thing back in one go, choked, coughed, and held her glass out again. Against his better judgement, Bill refilled it. Ginny propped her broomstick against a chimney and sat down on Ron’s lap.

“Fleur asked me if you and Amy were sleeping together,” Bill said to Charlie, wanting to avoid any mention of Fred. Maybe sometime, at some point, they could gather here and remember him, but not tonight. Not when the wooden box and the hole in the ground floated in the forefront of Bill’s memory no matter where he looked.

Charlie snorted. “Bet she asked you first.”

Bill did not miss the smirk that passed amongst his other siblings at the comment.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t ask one.” Charlie took a drink. “But no, we’re just friends.”

“That’s what you said about Tonks, and we all know that was a lie,” George said.

Bill had an uneasy feeling George was not going to be a friendly drunk.

“Shut up, George.” Charlie’s voice was calm but had a steely note, and George was not yet drunk enough to ignore it.

“Ginny’s never been on the roof, and she’s not yet seventeen,” Percy said quickly, falling right back into his role as peacekeeper between the oldest boys and the— 

Bill swallowed. And George. 

“Shouldn’t there be some sort of, I don’t know, admission fee?” he continued.

“Hey!”

“An excellent idea,” Ron said.

“Hey!” Ginny protested again, punching Ron in the arm.

“All right, Gin-Gin,” Bill said. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“That won’t be hard,” George said under his breath, and received a kick from their baby sister.

“A secret that you’ve been keeping from me,” Bill clarified. He saw George grimace and rub his thigh when Ginny turned her attention away from him.

Ginny rubbed her thumb up and down the side of her shot glass, thinking. Then her face lit up, and Bill knew she was going to turn this against him, the little imp.

“Do you remember, when you and Charlie came home from Hogwarts, how I would come into your room after lights out?”

Bill and Charlie both nodded. She had been such a cute little thing in pigtails and flowered nightdress (Mum’s choice, not Ginny’s), usually carrying a once-white unicorn and invariably falling asleep in one of their beds. Most of the time they carried her back to her room, but sometimes they let her stay.

“I wasn’t always asleep.” She grinned.

Bill and Charlie groaned, but Percy and Ron leaned forward.

“What did you hear?” Ron said.

“Enough to know Charlie and Tonks were more than friends,” she teased, but the smile she sent Charlie had more than a little sympathy.

Charlie took another drink. Tonks and Remus’s funeral was tomorrow.

“And one time, they borrowed one of Mum’s—“

“Get her!” With Percy and Charlie between him and Ginny, Bill was too far away.

Ron, who still had Ginny in his lap, started tickling her, and Ginny’s shrieks of laughter and feeble protests rang out until her brothers were laughing too.

“We used to compete to make her laugh,” Percy said when Ginny finally managed to crawl off Ron’s lap. “Remember?”

“You did?” Ginny said incredulously, and Bill couldn’t blame her. For most of her memory, they had either been pranking her or telling her to sod off.

George nodded. “Ron was the best at it.”

“I was?” 

Ron still sounded as if he were amazed he had been the best at anything. 

“You were virtually incomprehensible when you started to talk, but Ginny thought you were funny,” Bill said. “She used to laugh at almost everything you said.”

“So, nothing’s changed, then,” Ginny said, ducking behind George and giggling again when Ron reached a long arm towards her, fingers wiggling.

If only that were true.


	10. Chapter Nine

Harry shuffled forward, Ginny beside him with a death grip on his hand. They were waiting to view Colin’s body and speak to his parents and brother. The service was being held in a Muggle funeral home to accommodate Colin’s extended family, but Harry recognized many wizarding faces, most of them from the DA or Ginny and Colin’s year. The room was fussy, formal, and hot, overlaid with the cloying scent of cut flowers.

Colin appeared perfect. Peaceful, asleep even, and painfully young. His hands looked oddly empty without his camera. Harry felt the lump in his throat, the burning behind his eyes, and coughed. Ginny sniffled, and he put his arm round her.

When Dennis saw Ginny, he latched onto her like a lifeline. Harry extended his hand towards the middle-aged woman standing beside Dennis, but it was Colin’s father who took it.

“I’m Harry Potter. I— I went to school with Colin. He … I’m so sorry for your loss.”

The man, eyes red-rimmed and blank, nodded mechanically, and Harry stepped back slightly as Ginny introduced herself to Mrs. Creevey. The woman seemed to recognize her name, for she pulled Ginny into a firm embrace.

“He was a wonderful friend,” Ginny said, managing a smile. “So excited and enthusiastic about everything. I’m going to miss him.”

“Harry.”

It was Dennis, and Harry turned to face him with not a little dread. But Dennis had his hand outstretched and gave no indication of jinxing Harry.

“Dennis.” Harry shook his hand, wishing he could do something more. “I’m so sorry….”

Dennis nodded. “We had been watching our DA galleons all year, following the gang at school as they sent messages to each other, trying to figure out what was going on. Then Colin got Neville’s message about you being back, and—“ His voice cracked. “He was of age, he turned seventeen last term, but McGonagall made me leave with the others. I wanted to stay, but Colin— he was already mad that I’d followed him through the Floo to the Hog’s Head. I should have been there.”

Harry squeezed Dennis’s shoulder. “There’s nothing you could have done, Dennis. Colin wanted you to be safe. We sent all the under-age kids out. There’s no shame in that.”

Dennis nodded and accepted a hug from Hermione.

Harry and Ginny left the queue and found four empty seats.

“This is awful,” Ginny said, twisting her handkerchief in her lap. “We’re just supposed to sit here and … do what?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “Wait for everyone to leave for the—“ He swallowed. “The cemetery, I guess.”

Hermione and Ron squeezed past and sat down.

“It’s almost over,” Hermione whispered. “We were towards the end of the queue. The family will be leaving for the cars soon, then they’ll close the casket and the actual memorial will take place graveside.”

“Will we have time to sit through the whole service before going to Lupin and Tonks’s?” Ginny said.

Hermione looked at her watch and nodded. “I think so. We can Apparate straight there.”

()()()()

Charlie looked up as Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Harry joined the family in the open seats near the aisle. The four had had another funeral to attend this morning, one of Ginny’s classmates. Both Ginny and Hermione were red-eyed, and the boys didn’t look great, either. Charlie had lost friends in this war—two of them lay in the caskets in front of him—but none were children. None lost while he was still at Hogwarts. By all indications, Ginny had been heavily involved in Dumbledore’s Army, not to mention the Muggle-borns she would have associated with during her years at Hogwarts. He looked towards his sister, wondering how many friends she had lost, and questioned yet again his decision to remain in Romania. Maybe…. 

The casket on his left, the one covered in yellow roses, drew his eye. Yes, Tonks had been his friend, but she had been so much more than that. Playmates even before they had started at Hogwarts, Tonks had shared his compartment on their first train ride from King’s Cross, stood beside him during the Sorting Ceremony, destroyed countless magical plants as his Herbology partner, and shared more than a few detentions. She had been his first friend outside his family, his first kiss, his first lover. She was the first person he told when he got his acceptance letter from the dragon reserve, the first to admit their long-distance romance was killing their friendship, the first to write after that painful break-up. 

Tonks was his first everything.

Charlie didn’t pay much attention to the service. The official nattered on about her work as an Auror, spoke briefly (and uncomfortably, it seemed to Charlie) about her and Lupin’s marriage, and went on to spout some rubbish about heroism that they both would have hated. Especially Remus, with his quiet manner and sly humor that was all the funnier for its unexpectedness. Charlie remembered his intense focus when on a mission, his cold determination to end Voldemort and find justice for his friends, his commitment to Harry.

Charlie glanced down the row. Remus had been Harry’s last link to his parents, their last friend left alive, and now there was no one. Bill said Remus was the one who taught Harry how to cast a Patronus, and Remus had claimed it was Harry who made him see sense about Tonks and the baby. 

The baby Charlie was studiously avoiding.

It had been Remus’s words, even more than Bill’s, that reassured Charlie about his decision to work for the Order from Romania. But still, he couldn’t help wondering … if he had been just a little faster … if he had arrived at Hogwarts while Tonks and Remus were still alive, could he have prevented their deaths? 

Beside him, Amy reached for his hand as the official wrapped up the service. Charlie looked past her to Bill, whose face was set. Neither Bill nor Remus talked about it, but Charlie knew the two had been friends for years, even before the Order of the Phoenix was reformed. Bill had started writing to Remus the summer after Ginny was possessed, asking for his help as her Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and when Remus wanted to announce the birth of his son, he went to Bill’s house.

Charlie’s gaze drifted back to Harry again, the baby’s godfather, and passed over Percy. Even Percy had known and liked Lupin, his teacher for his last year of Defense Against the Dark Arts. And even though he hadn’t been in the Order, Perce would remember Tonks from school, being just three years behind her and Charlie and an occasional victim of their mischief.

Tonks had befriended all the kids that summer at Grimmauld Place, but she had been thrilled to get to know Ginny. Tonks had always doted on his baby sister, but she had been too young for them to really become friends before then. The two had thought of each other as surrogate sisters, and Charlie knew the— George and Ron and Ginny and Hermione and Harry had loved Remus’s lessons. Ginny, especially, had hardly talked about anything else in her letters that year. Mum and Dad had watched Tonks grow up, had worked with both Tonks and Lupin since the Order was reformed three years ago. Tonks and Lupin had been friends with everyone in his entire family. 

How did you recover from a loss like that?

()()()()

Harry didn’t even realize the memorial had ended until Ginny laid a hand on his arm.

Her eyes were puffy and her face damp, but her expression was clear and calm.

“She brought Teddy,” Ginny said, and Harry looked over her shoulder to see Mrs. Tonks holding a blanket-wrapped bundle. “Let’s go and say hello.”

Somehow his desire to be a model godfather faded when confronted with a grieving, obviously protective, and presumably quite powerful member of the Black family. “It’s a bad time. It’s her daughter’s funeral. We’ll— I’ll talk to her some other time. Later.”

“Then let’s ask her when would be a good time to stop by,” Ginny said, standing up and pulling Harry with her.

They waited as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley expressed their condolences, Ginny maintaining a firm grip on Harry’s arm as if she expected him to run away. Harry was forced to admit she knew him well.

“Hello, Mrs. Tonks, I’m—“

“Ginevra Weasley,” the dark-haired witch said. “I remember when you were just a tiny thing, no bigger than Teddy here.” She looked down at the baby in her arms and her expression softened.

“Nymphadora was the best,” Ginny said. “I’m really going to miss her.”

Harry wondered why Ginny used Tonks’s given name when she had hated it so … maybe for Mrs. Tonks’s sake, since she was the one who chose it. 

Mrs. Tonks nodded. “Mr. Potter.”

Was it his imagination, or had her voice chilled when she said his name?

“I— I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” she said with dignity.

“Remus— and Tonks, they— they asked me to be godfather. Teddy’s godfather, I mean,” Harry stammered. Of course Teddy’s godfather. Who else could it be?

It wasn’t Harry’s imagination this time; Mrs. Tonks turned Teddy ever-so-slightly towards her bosom and wrapped her other hand across his back.

“I am aware of their wishes.”

“Well, I …  I never had much of a chance to be with my own godfather, and I’d like to do better by Teddy.”

She finally smiled, and it eased her resemblance to Bellatrix immensely. “Sirius,” she said affectionately. “He was my favorite cousin.”

Harry began to feel this might work out all right. “He said the same thing about you, Mrs. Tonks,” he said, remembering the conversation with his godfather in front of the tapestry of the Black family tree.

“We were hoping we might come over one afternoon to spend some time with Teddy,” Ginny said. “Or you would be welcome at the Burrow if you prefer, of course.”

“I think it might be good for me to get out of the house,” Mrs. Tonks said, fussing with Teddy’s blanket. “Molly and I used to visit when Nymphadora and the boys were small.”

Ginny smiled and said nothing.

“Would Thursday be too soon?”

“Not at all,” Ginny said. “Come for tea.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you very much, Miss Weasley.”

“Whew,” Harry said when Mrs. Tonks had turned away to greet the next person waiting to speak with her. “She’s rather intimidating.”

“She’s just very proper. She may have married a Muggle-born, but she was still raised in high society, and people fall back on what’s familiar when they’re stressed. She’s not stuck up, though,” Ginny added. “I remember her being at our house. She often brought me hair ribbons or a dress for my doll. Something girly that the boys wouldn’t take away from me.”

“I didn’t know you played with dolls,” Harry said, relieved to have something less serious to talk about.

“Well, they all played Quidditch, and not one of them had any older brothers.”

()()()()

It was after midnight, but Charlie had no interest in going to bed. He had buried his first love today, one day after he had buried his brother. One year after he had buried his best mate. Godric, how Fergus used to take the piss out of him and Tonks, and now…. There had been no _Charlie and Tonks_ for years, but now there was no more Tonks. No more Fergus. No more—

Charlie shook himself. This was exactly why he needed a distraction. He didn’t want to sleep, to dream, to think, and with a family as big as his, surely there was someone up for a fly or a drink or a game of chess or _something_. Anything.

He passed closed doors on every landing and had just started up the last flight of stairs when he heard the soft click of a latch. A curly-haired, dressing-gown-clad witch was leaving Ron’s room and had not yet seen him. _Perfect._ Charlie lounged against the wall and waited.

“Ch—“ The beginning of his name sounded unnaturally loud in the silent house, and Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth, shooting a fearful look in the direction of his parents’ bedroom. 

“Hello, Hermione.” His gaze traveled from her to his brother’s bedroom door before returning to her adorably pink face. Well, well, well. Not a simple visit with her best mates, then.

“Hello.” Her voice was softer than a whisper, and she didn’t quite meet his eyes as she continued down the stairs towards him.

Charlie let her pass without additional comment, looking forward to harassing the hell out of his youngest brother.

He opened the door and squinted in reflex; it had been a long time since he’d been up here, and he’d forgotten Ron had redone the entire room in Chudley Cannons orange. Said fan lay in bed, eyes closed and mouth agape, apparently asleep already. An indentation from Hermione’s head remained in the pillow. Charlie crossed the room and shook Ron’s shoulder roughly.

He was flat on his back on the floor, Ron’s forearm pressed to his throat and his wand directly between Charlie’s eyes.

“Bloody hell, Charlie,” Ron said, pushing himself up with what Charlie considered to be unnecessary force. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Charlie was still processing the events that led his brain to conclude his kid brother had just got the drop on him. He sat up, rubbing his throat.

“What was that about?”

“Nine months on the run,” Ron said shortly, sliding his wand back under his pillow. “You’re lucky it wasn’t Harry. He stuns first and asks questions later.”

Charlie glanced at the empty camp bed. “Where is Harry?”

Ron sighed. “I don’t ask and he doesn’t say.”

Charlie paused, considering the implications of your best mate dating your little sister.  

“Hermione says its no different than me and her, but…” Ron frowned, unconvinced.

Charlie was inclined to agree. With Ron, that is, not Hermione.

Speaking of whom…. “I saw Hermione on my way up here,” he said casually.

Ron’s wand reappeared with unnatural speed. “What did you say to her?”

“Nothing! Shit, calm down, will you?”

Ron did not lower his wand hand and his eyes narrowed. “I know you said something to her. What was it?”

“ ‘Hello, Hermione.’ “ Charlie couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice, even with a wand pointed directly in his face.

The wand shifted slightly, as if Ron were deciding whether to hex Charlie’s left eye or his right. Charlie didn’t even have his wand on him, and he realized suddenly how different their experiences of the war had been.

“For Merlin’s sake, Ron, put your wand away. I’m just trying to take the piss.”

Ron gave his wand a flick, and despite himself, Charlie flinched. He saw Ron smirk and lunged, and the two brothers wrestled for control, first Charlie on top, then Ron, then Charlie again, and as Ron wriggled out of his hold, Charlie couldn’t help thinking this used to be a lot easier. He stopped holding back, but it wasn’t until he slammed Ron’s wrist into the wardrobe, causing the wand to drop and roll underneath it, and Charlie’s head cracked against one leg of the camp bed as he dodged Ron’s retaliatory elbow that they stopped, lying side by side and breathing heavily.

“Take my advice. Leave Hermione alone.”

“Or what, you’ll beat me up?” Charlie asked the question with insulting skepticism.

“Hermione is the best witch you’ve ever met. You should have seen what she did to the girl who ratted out Dumbledore’s Army.”

“Hermione actually hexed someone?” Charlie had a hard time picturing the goody-goody prefect doing anything less than wholesome. Then again, she had sneaked up here, hadn’t she?

“Harry and I wouldn’t have made it without her.”

“I hear you two are going on holiday.”

“We’re going to get Hermione’s parents. She sent them to Australia to keep them safe.”

Was there anything that wasn’t tainted by this damn war? Still, Charlie did his best to persevere in his brotherly duty to harass and humiliate.

“Moonlit beaches, skimpy swimsuits, hotel beds three times the size of that thing….” He waved his hand at Ron’s single bed.

“It’s winter there, prat. Like November.”

Southern Hemisphere. Right.

“Besides, it’s not like that.”

“Ron, if you tell me you had a girl in your bed and you didn’t make a move on her, I’ll castrate you myself.”

Ron poked him in the ribs with his newly-retrieved wand. “I didn’t say I didn’t— we weren’t— it’s—“ He took a deep breath that did nothing to return his ears to their normal pallor. “We just got together the night of the Battle, and I really care about her, and I don’t want to screw it up this time.“

This time? Meaning there had been a previous time with a previous screw-up? Charlie made a mental note to chat with Ginny tomorrow.

“So, you’re fooling around but you haven’t had sex.”

“Something like that,” he muttered.

“In that case, don’t believe anything she says if she’s cried in the last four hours.”

“What?” Ron went from looking embarrassed to perplexed.

“If she says she wants to make love, don’t believe her if she’s cried in the last four hours. Witches are emotional and unpredictable and have a tendency to change their minds.”

“You don’t say.”

“How long will you be gone?”

Ron shrugged, summoning bits of paper and tossing them into the bin several feet away. “No way to know. Hermione wants to be back for Harry’s birthday, but she hasn’t said anything to Harry in case we haven’t— in case we can’t make it. And she’ll probably want to spend most of the rest of the summer with her parents because she’s going back to Hogwarts in September.”

There was more to the Australia trip than Ron was saying. Harry’s birthday wasn’t until the end of July; why on earth would it take nearly three months to fetch Hermione’s parents? Charlie was sure the Grangers were capable of traveling home to England on their own (they’d got to Australia, hadn’t they?), but both Ron and Hermione tensed up whenever it was mentioned. 

“Well, goodness knows you won’t get any there. McGonagall will have that place locked up tighter than Gringotts.”

Ron’s lips twitched. “Lucky we’ve busted out of there, then.”

Charlie sat up. “It’s true? You really broke into Gringotts?”

“We really did.” 

Ron grinned at him, and Charlie knew he was going to make him ask.

“And the dragon?”

“That’s true too.”

“ _And_?”

Charlie was fascinated by Ron’s description of Hermione’s imitation of Bellatrix Lestrange, the trip into the vaults and the security spells they triggered, and their escape on the dragon’s back.

“Damn, Ron, even I don’t know anyone who has ridden a dragon. What the bloody hell were you thinking?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “No other options, were there?”

The brothers held each other’s eyes for a moment. 

“I guess not,” Charlie said finally. “What happened to the dragon?”

Ron flung a wad of paper at him. “We jumped off when it flew low over a lake, thanks for asking.”

The door opened and closed, and Harry entered the room. 

“Oh, hi, Charlie.”

“Charlie here was worrying about what happened to the Gringotts dragon,” Ron said.

“It’s a dragon. I’m sure it’s fine.”

Harry stepped around them and sat down on his bed. Charlie noticed how smoothly both boys—men (when the hell had that happened?)— ignored the question of Harry’s whereabouts at one in the morning. He stood up.

“You, uh, you might want to check on George,” Harry said to his trainers. “I—I heard him as I came up the stairs.”

Heard him crying, he meant. 

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to MandyinKC for letting me borrow Fergus Wood as Charlie's best mate. He appears in her Oliver Wood/Katie Bell fic _Pictures of You_ on fanfic.net


	11. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's quote of the prophecy is directly from: Rowling, J. K. _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_. Bloomsbury: London, 2003. p. 741.

Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys were halfway through dinner the next day (without Mrs. Weasley or George) when Mr. Weasley spoke.

“Kingsley wants to have one last meeting of the Order,” he said. “Wrap things up, tie off a few loose ends. We’ve set it for tomorrow evening at six. Ginny, can you fix dinner? If your mother still isn’t feeling well,” he added hastily.

“I— of course I can, Daddy. The boys will help, won’t you?”

There was a round of nods and general agreement, even from Percy (who had tensed up at the mention of the Order), and the family finished the rest of the meal in silence. Ginny prepared a tray for her mother, and as soon as Mr. Weasley left to carry it up to her, Ginny collapsed into a chair.

“How am I going to cook dinner for the whole Order? How many people is that, anyway? I can’t cook a dinner for that many people!”

“You’ve done it before,” Harry said reasonably. “Ever since we stopped meeting at Grimmauld Place.”

“No, I didn’t! Mum cooked and I helped. She decided what to make, and how much of everything, and— oh, Merlin, I’ll have to go to the market.”

“Relax, Ginny, we’ll help,” Charlie said as he carried dishes from the table to the sink.

“You can’t help! You’ll be no help at all. When have you ever cooked for that many people?”

“Well, then, tell Dad you can’t do it,” Ron said, filling the sink with water and adding soap. After so many years of doing it the Muggle way, it seemed more habit than anything.

Percy picked up a towel to start drying.

“I can’t do that! We can’t do that. We’ve hosted the Order ever since the Order moved out of Grimmauld Place. Hell, Mum hosted the Order _in_ Grimmauld Place.”

“That’s what I just said,” Harry said, but Ginny ignored him.

“What was Dad thinking,” she moaned.

“Probably that since we make up half the Order, it wouldn’t be fair to ask anyone else to cook for us,” Charlie said, transferring the leftover food into storage containers.

“We could ask Fleur for help,” Hermione said tentatively. “She cooked for all of us when we were at Shell Cottage.”

To Harry’s surprise, this suggestion actually made Ginny hesitate. 

“Well … I’ve been shopping with Mum my whole life. I’ll just buy twice as much as I think we need, and if it’s still not enough, maybe Fleur and Hermione can magic it.” 

()()()()

Ginny winced at the sound of angry voices. Other than that night on the roof and Tonks and Lupin’s funeral yesterday, George had not been out of his room since—since—

 _Since_ we buried Fred.

Dad carried trays up at mealtimes that remained untouched, Charlie and Bill had each knocked on the door, but George refused to answer. Ron just went upstairs to try to talk to him, but George was yelling at him—through the door, from the sound of Ron’s swearing.

He reappeared in the sitting room and sat down on the sofa next to Hermione, who laid her hand on his knee. 

“He doesn’t have to be such a git about it,” Ron said. “We miss him too.”

“He just needs time, Ron,” Hermione said soothingly. “He’s not really angry with you.”

Ginny left her brothers debating how long to leave George alone and climbed the stairs, stopping in her room to retrieve her wand. Speaking quietly so her voice wouldn’t carry through George’s bedroom door, she released the locking and Imperturbable Charms and walked in.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you lot! Are you deaf? I said bug—“ George stopped shouting at the sight of her. He lay back on the bed and rolled to face the wall. “Bugger off, Ginny. I’m fine.”

Ginny didn’t argue. She closed the door, reset the privacy charms, stepped over the dress robes he had left crumpled in the floor, and climbed onto the bed. Startled, George turned towards her, and she ducked under his arm and rested her head on his chest, one arm wrapped round his waist. He stiffened but didn’t push her away, and as Ginny lay there, silently holding her brother, he gradually relaxed. Not until she felt his arm go slack behind her, his breathing slow and even under her cheek, did she let the tears fall.

()()()()

Harry was already flying when Ginny arrived in the orchard that night. She had nicked a skein of yarn from her mother’s stash (from the looks of things, Mum wasn’t going to be using it anytime soon), pulled and twisted and generally mutilated it until it was roughly spherical (she sincerely hoped she was nowhere around when Mum did try to wind this into a ball), and sent it into the air with a flick of her wand. Ever the Seeker, Harry saw the movement in his peripheral vision, caught it, and drew up short, waiting for her to join him. 

“You want to run Chaser drills?” he asked, tossing the makeshift Quaffle from hand to hand.

“If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.” And before he had even finished speaking, he gave the wad of yarn a heave, and Ginny raced after it.

She needed the distraction, needed something to concentrate on, because all she had been able to think about this evening was how many more people should be coming to dinner. Fred. Tonks. Lupin. Moody. Dumbledore. Sirius. Even Snape, apparently. The anger and the grief rose and swelled inside her until she had to move, had to do something. Ever since she’d been a little girl, her nighttime flights had been her escape, her chance to flee the smothering protection of her mother and brothers. She made all the passes Harry sent her, scooping the Quaffle just above the ground, snagging it before it flew into tree branches, chasing it in a steep climb as Harry used a repelling jinx to send it high into the air. She turned and spun and pivoted, dived and accelerated and caught until she was panting with the effort and damp with sweat, until her tears ran out and the wind blew her cheeks dry. When she snagged the threads of yarn on her fingers and they came apart in her hands, she wound the yarn around her arm, and Harry joined her on the ground.

“You’re an amazing flyer, Ginny. McGonagall will make you Quidditch Captain for sure.”

“Do you think so?” she said, trying to keep the hope out of her voice. Ginny hadn’t been particularly disappointed not to make prefect in fifth year, but she couldn’t lie. If there wasn’t a Captain’s badge in her Hogwarts letter this year, this last year, she would be crushed.

She stopped, horrified. How could she even think such a thing? Fred was dead— her own brother!— and she was worried about her status in a _game_?

“Ginny? What is it?” 

When she didn’t respond, Harry moved to stand in front of her. “Were you … were you thinking about Fred?”

She nodded, and dammit, the tears were back.

“I imagine it would be hard to think of Quidditch and not think of Fred,” he said.

Ginny nodded again, not wanting to reveal her tears by wiping them away.

Harry reached out and hooked her hair behind her ear. “Hey,” he said in surprise, seeing her wet face.

“I’m sorry.” She dragged her sleeve across her eyes. “I was thinking about how much I want the captaincy, and how disappointed I’ll be if it goes to someone else, and then—“ She felt her lip tremble and bit down on it before going on. “Then I remembered Fred, and it all seemed so stupid, and— I’m such a terrible sister!”

Harry stepped forward and put his arms around her, and Ginny leaned into his shoulder, trying to swallow back her tears but only succeeding in some jerky breathing.

“It’s all right. You’re trying to be strong for everyone else, trying to take care of everyone else, but you don’t have to pretend with me.” 

Ginny dropped her broomstick and the stupid yarn Quaffle and held on to Harry. She _had_ been trying to be there for her family, to keep everyone fed and the laundry done and all the thousand and one things her mother managed so effortlessly. And she was terrified of this dinner tomorrow. 

“I’m not as good at it as she is,” she said into Harry’s neck. “Mum makes it look so easy, and I’ve been trying really hard, but I only know how to make breakfast and sandwiches and shepherd’s pie, because Mum said every British woman should know how to make a good shepherd’s pie and she made me learn the summer I turned thirteen, and I can do that okay, but everyone’s not going to want to eat shepherd’s pie every night and I got George’s and Charlie’s pants mixed up in the wash and nobody’s dusted the sitting room since we’ve been home and everyone’s coming for dinner tomorrow and Mrs. Tonks is coming on Thursday and I’m going to mess it all up and make my family look bad and Daddy will be disappointed in me and Mum will be ashamed and I really don’t want to cook for everyone tomorrow!”

“Nobody is ashamed of you,” Harry said firmly, rubbing her back. “And nobody expects you to do everything. We already said we’d help you tomorrow. Dinner will be fine.”

Ginny gulped and realized _she_ was ashamed of herself, going on like this. “I’m sorry.” She wiped her nose, and Harry mercifully conjured her a handkerchief. She blew, loudly and messily, and felt herself blushing. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Harry said, drying his tearstained shirt with a quick spell. He took her hand, and they started walking along the line of apple trees. “What—what set you off?” His voice was hesitant, as if he were afraid the very question would trigger more tears.

“You did,” Ginny said, then catching his expression, hurried to explain. “It’s nothing bad, Harry, just—“ She swallowed. It was awkward, this relationship they had. Understanding each other but knowing so little. Feeling so close across such a distance. “You made me feel safe,” she whispered. “Like it was okay to talk about things, even if I got upset.”

He stopped walking and turned to her, the moonlight revealing his face lit from within. “I did?”

She nodded.

“How did I do that? I mean, how can I be sure that I do it again, when you need me?”

“Oh, Harry….” Ginny squeezed his hand, hard, and willed the tears not to fall. How she longed to kiss him, really kiss him, right now. But she wanted their first kiss to be from Harry, to know he truly forgave her for the things she said in the common room.

“Ginny?”

“I don’t know,” she said thickly, but he looked so disappointed that she sniffed and cleared her throat and tried again. “I guess—well, you didn’t ignore that I was upset, and you said I didn’t have to pretend, so I knew you genuinely wanted me to tell you what was bothering me. And you said his name, Fred’s, so I knew it was okay to talk about him, that it wouldn’t upset you. And—“ She squirmed a little, feeling her cheeks heat with a blush.

“And what?”

She looked at him from the corner of her eye. He watched her intently, studying her, and her heart melted a little at how much he cared about getting this right. How much he cared about _her_. She tugged on his hand to start walking again. 

“And you touched me.”

His thumb rubbed the back of her hand, and he was quiet for a long time, long enough for them to reach the end of the row of trees and start back.

“You feel safe when I hold you?” 

“Yes.” It had always been true, ever since Harry reached down a hand to pull her up off the Chamber floor and promised her everything was all right.

He dropped her hand to put his around her waist and pull her close, and Ginny curled into his chest. If he kept this up, she wasn’t going to be able to wait for him to kiss her.

“Do you want to talk about anything else?”

She needed a change of subject, to get the focus off them. “I want to hear about Snape,” she said. “You still haven’t told me why you think Ron and Hermione should stay for his funeral.”

“He was in love with my mum,” Harry said quietly. 

“ _Snape_?”

“From the time they were kids. He met her and my aunt Petunia at a Muggle playground. He was the one who told my mother she was a witch.”

“How did you find out all this?”

He took a deep breath. “During the Battle, we were looking for Voldemort, and— do you remember how I saw into his mind in fifth year, when your dad was attacked?”

Ginny nodded.

“Well, I learned how to control it better over the last year, and I looked into his mind on purpose. He was in the Shrieking Shack.” 

Harry shot her a glance out of the corner of his eye, as if he were trying to decide how much to tell her. Ginny said nothing, just squeezed his hand.

“I’ll have to tell you the rest of it later, after I’ve explained some other stuff, but Voldemort killed Snape. He— he told Nagini to attack him.”

“The snake?” 

“Yes. And Voldemort left the room, just left Snape lying there in his own blood, and I— I didn’t know what to do.”

“Were Ron and Hermione with you?”

Harry nodded. “Snape gave me his memories, and when we came back to the castle—“ He swallowed. “They had— they had all the— the casualties lined up in the Great Hall, and that’s when I saw Remus and Tonks, and— I just wanted to escape. I just wanted to get out of my head for a while, so I went up to Dumbledore’s office to use his Pensieve.”

“You saw Snape’s memories of him and your mother?” Ginny whispered. That was an incredible gift for a child who had no memories of his own. It sounded nothing like the snarky, hateful Snape she had known. 

“They were friends. Mum and Snape ran into my dad and Sirius on the Hogwarts Express their very first day of school, and Dad and Sirius and Snape disliked each other from the beginning. My mum wasn’t particularly impressed by them either, but I think that’s because my dad and Sirius were picking on her friend. That’s part of the reason Snape hated my dad so much, because he had a thing for my mum. But Snape and my mum stayed friends until the end of fifth year.” Harry cleared his throat. “Some pupils attacked him, but when my mum defended him, he got angry and said he didn’t need help from a Mudblood.”

Now _that_ sounded like Snape.

“What did your mum do?”

“He tried to apologize, but she wouldn’t accept it. Said he was too involved in the Dark Arts. That’s when their friendship ended, but he never stopped loving her.”

“Is that why he came over to our side?”

“Yes. Snape was the one who told Voldemort about the prophecy, but—“

“Harry?” Ginny stopped walking, and he turned to look at her.

“You’ve never told me about the prophecy. Neville said it was broken at the Ministry.”

He sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. “It was. But Professor Trelawney made the prophecy to Dumbledore, and he—“

“Trelawney? You mean she’s not a fraud?”

“Not that time, at least. She spoke the prophecy to Dumbledore, so he was able to show me his memory of it in the Pensieve.”

When he didn’t go on, Ginny prompted him. “So, what did it say?”

Harry sighed again and dropped her hand. “Ginny….“

“What did it say, Harry?” There was no way she was letting him out of telling her this time.

He looked away, towards the village. “ ‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches … born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.’ “

Either must— Neither can— Ginny stared in shock. She had known it was bad, had known there was some magical connection between Harry and Voldemort, but this….

“When did Dumbledore tell you?”

“That night. After we left the Ministry for Magic.”

She groaned. “You found out you were destined to kill Voldemort—“

“Or be killed by him,” he said, as if determined to make sure she understood completely.

“Yes, I caught that part.”

“I think I had known for a while. That summer, after I had time to think about it, it felt like I had always known that it would be either him or me.”

“Well, now I know why you wouldn’t tell me last year.”

It was the closest they had come to fighting during those glorious weeks of spring, when Ginny had asked Harry what he knew, what he and Dumbledore were talking about during their meetings.

“I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Merlin, Harry, it’s over now, and I know you’re safe, and still….”

“I’m sorry.”

Ginny reached for his hand again. “No. This is important. If we’re going to be together, I need to know. I need you to be honest with me, even when it’s painful. For either of us.”

Harry looked uncertain.

“Look, Harry, everything with Voldemort is a huge part of who you are. It’s shaped you— it’s shaped both of us. I don’t want to be left out. It’s not fair for Ron and Hermione to know things I don’t. Not if you want us to have a real relationship.” 

And he did want that, right? He had agreed to give them a chance.

He scuffed a toe in the grass. “I know. It’s just hard to talk about sometimes. And I don’t want you to….”

“Nothing you tell me is going to change how I feel about you, Harry,” Ginny said, tugging on his hand to get him to look up at her. 

“But you don’t know—“

“I don’t care. Do you hear me? I. Don’t. Care. If you can like me after what happened with Tom, then—“

“But that wasn’t your fault!”

Ginny raised her eyebrows and Harry smiled sheepishly. 

“All right?” she asked.

He nodded. “I’ll try.”

“Okay. So, Trelawney made this prophecy about you defeating Voldemort, and Snape found out and told him?”

“Snape was eavesdropping, and he only heard the first part of the prophecy. He didn’t know it referred to me. When he found out that Voldemort was coming after me and my parents, he went to Dumbledore, and that’s when he turned spy for the Order. Snape asked Voldemort to spare her life, but Mum wouldn’t give up. Voldemort kept telling her to stand aside, but she wouldn’t move from in front of my cot….“ 

Ginny wondered how he knew that but said nothing.

“That’s how I survived that night in Godric’s Hollow. It’s ancient blood magic. My mum gave her life for mine, and that’s why I had to stay with the Dursleys. Because Aunt Petunia was my mother’s blood relative, my staying with her sealed the spell. Voldemort couldn’t attack me there until either I came of age or no longer called her house my home.”

“I wish I’d known that. I hated seeing you go back there every summer, especially when you loved being at the Burrow so much.”

“I owe your parents a lot.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re happy to have you. Any imagined debt has long since been repaid.” 

They picked up their broomsticks and the ruined skein of yarn and began walking back to the Burrow.

“What about Dumbledore’s murder?”

“He arranged it with Snape beforehand. Remember Dumbledore’s hand, how it was black and withered that year?”

Ginny nodded. “It looked awful. Like it had already died.”

“That’s kind of what happened. It was a curse, trapped in his hand, but Dumbledore was dying slowly. He didn’t want Malfoy to be responsible for his death, and he asked Professor Snape to kill him if he had a chance.”

Ginny smiled. 

“What’s so funny?”

“You call him ‘professor’ now. You never used to do that.”

“Oh. Well, it seems appropriate. He saved my life more than once, and he tried to save my mother’s.”

“Are you upset with Hermione for not staying for the funeral?”

Harry shrugged. “She wants to see her parents. I can understand that.”

Yes, if anyone would understand the sacrifice Hermione had made, it would be Harry.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for telling me.”

They were at the back door, but neither reached for the handle. Harry was watching her. His face was in shadow, but he was looking directly at her, and Ginny had the same itchy feeling between her shoulder blades that she’d experienced so many times during her fifth year. She put her hand on his cheek, and when he didn’t turn away from her, brushed his mouth with hers.

“Goodnight, Harry.”


	12. Chapter Eleven

Harry lay on his camp bed thinking about Ginny. He had told her about the prophecy, and she hadn’t run away screaming. Of course, she knew now how it ended. But she had held his hand, and listened, and he had seen the tears in her eyes when he talked about his mum refusing to move out of the way. Ginny just— she just let him talk, even encouraged him to talk, and Harry found it was a relief for her to know. He wondered if telling her other things, about the Horcruxes and the other times he had been in Voldemort’s mind, would make him feel relieved too.

She had kissed him. They hadn’t really— well, they hadn’t really kissed since last summer. She had kissed him once, that first night he had gone looking for her and found her flying in the orchard, but that was just a peck, really. A chaste thank-you. Tonight was— not a friendly kiss, exactly, more like … like the way you might kiss someone if you weren’t sure they wanted to kiss you back. Soft, and tentative, and—

Wait a minute. Did Ginny think he might not want to be with her, might not be receptive to kissing her? Because he wanted very much to go back to the way things had been when they were together at Hogwarts, when they were relaxed and comfortable in each other’s presence, when they had touched and kissed easily. He just wasn’t sure how to get there. And he worried it wasn’t … appropriate, given the circumstances. What with her brother dying and all, he didn’t want to seem as if he were taking advantage. Whatever Ginny said, Harry still felt responsible for Fred’s death.

And what about Ginny, what did she want? He had broken up with her and left without warning and not seen or spoken to her for _nine months_. It didn’t seem right to just pick back up snogging in the sunshine. But she said she wanted to start over. “Dating,” she had said. Whatever that meant.

Harry thought back over the last few nights they spent together in the orchard. Ginny had reached for his hand, lain beside him with her head on his shoulder, and both times they had kissed, it had been she who initiated it. So, she wouldn’t mind if he kissed her, right? Maybe not like last year, when she sometimes let him do a little more than kiss her, but—

The bedroom door opened and Ron came in. Harry jerked the covers up to his chin. Ron raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Harry decided to go on the offensive.

“Where have you been?”

“With Hermione.”

“She’s not sleeping up here tonight?” Hermione continued to have nightmares about Malfoy Manor.

Ron shook his head, shucking his jeans and tossing them in the dirty laundry.

“How are the preparations for Australia coming?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “You know Hermione. It’s like exams all over again, only it’s her parents, so it’s O.W.L.s, the Ministry for Magic, and Gringotts all rolled into one. She’s barking.”

“Can I do anything?”

“That reminds me.” Ron dug in the pockets of his just-discarded jeans and pulled out a piece of paper. “Here,” he said, tossing it at Harry. “That’s the address for the Australian Ministry for Magic. Hermione says you can contact us there until we get established somewhere.”

“Okay.” Harry used a Sticking Charm to attach the paper to the wall above his bed. “Ron, if you need—“

He held up a hand. “Bill and Charlie and Percy and George have already offered. I thought George was going to beat me upside the head with the money, actually. Said Fred would have wanted me to have it.”

“I’m sure he would. Still, if you get there and need anything—“

“You’ll be my first owl,” Ron said, climbing into bed.

“It’s the least I can do.”

“Hermione is working on reversing all the charms for her parents’ bank accounts and dental practice and everything. She’s going to have someone come in and clean the house, but if you and Ginny could go over and make sure everything looks okay, maybe do the shopping….”

“Of course we will. Just tell us when.”

Ron flicked the Deluminator, and they were quiet for a few minutes. 

“You okay with flying in an airplane?”

“Don’t have much choice.”

“You could take a Portkey back, let Hermione travel with her parents.”

Harry heard the rustle of Ron’s head shaking against his pillow. “Hermione reckons her parents are going to be rather leery of magic after what she did, and I reckon she’s right. I don’t want to do anything to make it worse.”

“You mean you don’t want to do anything to make them not like you,” Harry said.

“That too.”

Harry wished he could reassure his best mate, but what Hermione had done … anyone else, in any other circumstance, would serve time in Azkaban.

“They’re just people, Ron,” Harry said. “People who care about their daughter like your parents care about you and your brothers and Ginny.”

“I just don’t want to do anything or say anything that will mess this up for her. She— if her parents don’t forgive her, if they won’t come back home, it’s going to crush her.”

Harry didn’t want to think about it.

()()()()

Up early in preparation for attending several funerals today, Harry was just serving himself breakfast when George walked into the kitchen dressed in magenta robes.

“Where are you going?” Ron said.

“To work,” George said shortly.

“But it’s only—“

“I haven’t been into the shop in months, since before Easter.” George spoke over top of his sister. “Loads of work to do.”

“Surely it could wait a few more days—“ Charlie began, but he dropped off at George’s dark look.

“Do you want some help?” Percy said.

“Not from you.”

Everyone at the table flinched. Harry had wondered if this would happen, if George would resent Percy for Fred’s death, for coming back to the family the same night Fred left it.

“Well, at least have some breakfast,” Ginny said quickly, standing up. “I have eggs scrambled, or do you want fried? You like them over easy, right?”

“Fred liked them over easy. I don’t want breakfast, and I don’t want eggs. I want to get out of here and do something.”

George slammed the back door behind him, leaving Ginny standing by the cooker with a hurt look on her face and Harry angry at him for the first time he could remember.

“Git,” Ron muttered.

“Ron!” Ginny looked even more upset.

“He’s not the only one who’s grieving.”

“Fred was his twin. It’s different,” she said, but Harry thought she sounded unconvincing.

“He was our brother too!”

“All right,” Charlie said, standing up and leading Ginny back to her seat. “Let’s not fight about it. We all loved Fred, and we all miss him. He and George ran the shop together. Maybe George feels closer to him there. Let’s give him some space, okay?”

The siblings continued with the meal. Harry noticed no one ate much, but Ginny transferred her strawberries to Percy’s plate. Percy gave her a faint smile, which she returned. Hermione leaned against Ron’s shoulder. Charlie picked at his toast, and Harry wished he had just slept through breakfast.

()()()()

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Charlie, and Percy worked all through that afternoon cleaning the house and preparing for the Order dinner. Hermione had sent Percy to put fresh towels in the bathroom twenty minutes ago, but he hadn’t returned. Harry assumed, having not been an Order member, that Percy simply disappeared to save his family the embarrassment of introducing him. Ginny didn’t notice; she was still fretting over how many people would show up when Bill and Fleur arrived half an hour early.

“I hope you prepared for at least fifty, Ginny,” Bill said in a serious voice, smirking behind her back.

But Ginny was in no mood for jokes. “ _Fifty_! How did you get— Bill Weasley, that is not funny!”

“Relax, Gin-Gin,” he said, taking advantage of both her hands being in pie crust dough to kiss her on the forehead. “As long as you have some food, you can magically increase the amount. Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration, right, Ron?” He winked.

“So Hermione says.”

“Are you sure you can—“

“Ginny, there’s enough food here to feed an army,” Hermione said soothingly. “A literal army. We counted everyone we could think of, added ten more, and planned on the men eating thirds. It will be fine.”

“Oh, are you making pie? I wish you had told me, Ginny, I would have brought some dirigible plums. They’ve just started to ripen.”

“Luna! And Neville! What are you two doing here?”

“I Floo-called them yesterday,” Harry said, shaking Neville’s hand. “The three of you ran the DA while we were gone. You deserve to be here.”

Ginny had no more time to fret over how many people were coming as the Weasleys’ fireplace flared green again and again. Charlie propped open the back door as the members of the Order of the Phoenix arrived by Floo and Apparition over the next several minutes. Seeing that everyone wanted to speak with him, at least for a moment, Harry stepped outside into the garden where Bill and George were setting up tables. Harry was pleased to see Mrs. Weasley come outside; this would be the first meal she’d had with her family since arriving home from Hogwarts. There were also a few people Harry had never met before: a dark-haired and dark-eyed couple who were friends of Charlie’s from Romania, and three of Fleur’s friends from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Both Charlie and Bill shot frequent glances at the gate, and Harry wondered if Amy Green was supposed to be here too.

()()()()

Kingsley waited for almost everyone to clean their plates before he stood and called the meeting to order, sending a significant glance to Ginny, Neville, and Luna, who sat with Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the middle of one of the tables. 

“This is Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and Ginny Weasley,” Harry said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “They ran Dumbledore’s Army this year, the resistance at Hogwarts. I invited them.” He met Kingsley’s gaze without blinking.

“It’s all right, Kingsley,” McGonagall said.

“Welcome,” Kingsley said in his deep, slow voice, finally breaking Harry’s gaze. “We also have several of our international members here tonight. Charlie and Fleur, would you—“

“Sorry, sorry, sorry I’m late!” Amy Green came flying through the garden gate with a loud squeak and a clatter, holding her robes up with one hand and a shoe in the other and looking more than a little disheveled. “My transfer point in Romania turned into a marsh invested with Dugbogs.” She glared in Charlie’s direction, and Harry noticed several bloody bites on her feet and ankles as she replaced her sandal.

“I told you, if you don’t want to end up in the marsh, be sure to Apparate to point eight-nine-two, not eight-two-nine,” Charlie said. 

“Next time, don’t tell me what _not_ to do,” Amy retorted, dropping her robes and running her hand through her hair, or attempting to; her fingers caught in a snarl at the back of her head. Muttering under her breath, she gave her long hair a series of quick twists and shoved her wand through the dark mass to hold it in place before taking an empty seat at the very end of Harry’s table. “Again, my apologies,” she said. “Please continue.” She folded her hands in her lap and smiled sweetly at Kingsley.

“Charlie and Fleur, please introduce your guests.”

Introductions and pleasantries aside, Kingsley called for Professor McGonagall to share the plans for the rebuilding of Hogwarts. 

“As many of you are aware, volunteers have been arriving at Hogwarts day by day and are working in various areas of the castle and grounds. Mr. Filch has an extensive list of volunteers who will be contacted by owl post over the next two days to develop a more organized schedule. The staff has covered the castle with reinforcement and stabilizing charms, and we are hopeful these will hold so the castle can be repaired in sections. We have also been working on the staff’s living quarters. Group cleanup will begin on Saturday, continuing with the Entrance and Great Halls and the hospital wing. The Ministry is reviewing architects’ bids, and we hope to have someone hired to supervise the project by next week. Due to damage from the giants, the library’s archives are too unstable to enter right now—“ 

Hermione gave a little moan.

“So we have obtained copies of the architectural plans of the castle from the Ministry. However, these do not cover the castle’s towers or anything below the level of the Entrance Hall, so we will need volunteers from all houses to complete these sections. If any of you know someone with magical construction experience who would be willing to supervise the volunteers, please see me after the meeting.”

“Thank you, Minerva. Aberforth, an update on Voldemort, please.”

Harry exchanged looks with Ron and Hermione. He couldn’t believe they hadn’t noticed that Voldemort’s name was not on the list of scheduled funerals that appeared in the _Daily Prophet_ last Friday.

The Hog’s Head barman stood up and addressed not Kingsley, but Harry. “Voldemort’s body was buried last week beside his father in the cemetery at Little Hangleton under the name Tom Riddle Junior. That information has not been released to the press, nor will it be.” He looked away from Harry to glare at each person present before sitting down.

“The hunt for fleeing Death Eaters continues,” Kingsley said. “We have sent requests for cooperation to every country in the International Confederation of Wizards, and the Wizengamot hopes to begin trials soon. Those of you who have personal knowledge of Death Eaters currently in custody can expect to receive summons to testify. I have also nominated each of you, and those members who are no longer with us, for Orders of Merlin, Third Class, and I expect this to be approved without difficulty. I have heard nothing but praise and gratitude for all of you over the last ten days, and it has been my privilege to serve with each and every one of you.” Kingsley paused to look round the group. “At this time I’m opening the floor for any new business.”

Mr. Diggle raised his hand and stood at Kingsley’s nod. “Hestia and I are planning to bring the Dursleys home this weekend. I stopped by their house this evening, and it could use some sprucing up before their return. Mr. Potter, how would you like to handle that?”

“Er—“ Harry had no desire to ever step foot on Privet Drive again. “I guess I could.… “

“I’ll volunteer,” said Neville. “If that’s okay with you, Harry.”

“Thanks, Neville. But they’re Muggles. There should be someone with you who knows—“

“I can help with that,” Mrs. Figg said. “I’ll make sure everything in the house is working properly. I’ve been having my nephew mow the grass. I’ll ask him to come by on Friday, and you can bring them home on Saturday, Dedalus. Does that work for you, Mr. Longbottom?”

“Friday’s fine,” Neville said.

“I’ll help too, Harry,” Luna said, and there were multiple offers from every table.

“That’s settled then,” Mr. Diggle said, and resumed his seat.

“I have something.” Harry stood up. “Not all of you were there at the end, and you deserve to know the truth. I have irrefutable evidence that Severus Snape was a genuine member of the Order of the Phoenix.” There was quiet rustling and murmuring from the group, and Harry waited for it to die down. “He was on our side the whole time. Dumbledore planned his death with Snape. Snape told Dumbledore that Voldemort had assigned Draco Malfoy to kill him, and Dumbledore asked Snape to do it instead. He was one of Voldemort’s most trusted Death Eaters, and his bravery helped us win the war.”

“Anything else, from anyone?” Kingsley said. Several seconds passed. “Very well then, let’s give a big round of applause to Arthur and Molly Weasley for their generous hospitality over—“ The words weren’t even out of his mouth before there was thunderous applause and whistling that lasted until Mr. Weasley raised his hands in acknowledgement.

“And Miss Ginny Weasley—“ Another round of whistling, mostly from her brothers and Harry— “who, since she is still a few months shy of her seventeenth birthday, prepared this lovely feast for us without the use of magic.” He smiled at Ginny and dropped her a wink.

Ginny blushed with pleasure as everyone joined in the applause.

When it had died down, Kingsley sobered. “Aberforth, would you do the honors?”

The old man swallowed, and Harry thought there was a glint of moisture in the piercing blue eyes. “I move that the Order of the Phoenix be disbanded.”

“Seconded,” McGonagall said promptly, and it was the huskiness in her voice that reminded Harry that it was Albus Dumbledore who first formed the Order, and he who must have dissolved it after that night in Godric’s Hollow nearly seventeen years ago.

“All in favor?”

“Aye!”

“Any opposed?

“Motion carries.”


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter takes place the same evening as the Order meeting, which is Wednesday, May 13th.

Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione, along with Luna and Neville, were clearing the tables when Kingsley approached them.

“I need to speak to you three,” he said, indicating Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “Privately, please.”

“Everyone who is using the Floo will be queueing in the kitchen,” Ron said. “I’ll let Dad and Mum know we need to use the sitting room.”

Ron spoke briefly with his parents, who were still chatting with the others at their table, before leading the way around the crooked house and through the front door.

Kingsley seated himself in the armchair and waited for Harry, Hermione, and Ron to wedge themselves onto the sofa.

“I have spoken with Gawain Robards, and the Ministry for Magic is prepared to waive the usual N.E.W.T. requirements and offer each of you positions in the Auror Academy with this year’s class beginning one August.”

Harry felt Hermione go rigid beside him and looked past her to Ron, who looked vastly more excited about Kingsley’s offer than he had about Professor McGonagall’s.

“That’s very generous, Minister,” Hermione said, “but we—“

“We’ll take it,” Harry said. “At least, Ron and I will.”

“But—“ Hermione sputtered.

“Is that true, Mr. Weasley?”

Ron didn’t look at Hermione. “Yes. If I can become an Auror without having to go back to school, then I say yes.”

“Miss Granger?”

She looked from Ron to Harry, both of whom avoided meeting her eyes. “I—“ She swallowed. “It’s a very gracious offer, Minister, but I’ve never wanted to be an Auror. Professor McGonagall is giving us the opportunity to come back to Hogwarts, and I want to finish my education.”

“That’s perfectly understandable,” Kingsley said. “I’m sure you can have your pick of assignments next summer.” He smiled kindly at her and stood up.

Harry and Ron allowed Hermione to stand first, which gave them room to get up.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, I’ll tell Robards to expect you—“

“In September,” Harry said firmly.

Kingsley looked taken aback, and Ron turned to Harry in surprise.

“I think we’ve earned some time off. We’ll enjoy the summer, see our girlfriends off to Hogwarts, and join the Academy on the second of September.”

Harry crossed his arms and tried to look as resolute as he felt. It must have worked, for Kingsley nodded. “Very well then. I will tell Robards to expect you on the second of September. Your appointment papers will be sent by owl post.” He shook hands with each of them and left the Burrow.

“Blimey, Harry,” Ron said as soon as the door closed. “September?”

“We have earned the time off.”

“We bloody well have,” Ron agreed. “But are you sure you want to start a month behind everyone else? We’ll have all that catch-up work to do, and I imagine more than a few hard feelings about special treatment.”

“Well then, you start in August if you’re so worried about it,” Harry said. “I don’t want to do _anything_ for a while.”

That wasn’t entirely true; Harry would be quite content to spend the next three and a half months doing whatever Ginny wished, and from the look Ron was giving him, Harry suspected Ron knew it. Time to shift his focus.

“Hermione?”

She stood with her back to them, gazing out the window with her arms wrapped round herself. “I can’t believe you two don’t want to go back.”

“Then you weren’t paying attention the first six years,” Ron said. “You’re the one who likes school, not me and Harry.”

She turned to face them, and both boys were alarmed to see she was close to tears. Harry hurried across the room towards her, and Ron put an arm round her shoulders.

“But you’re both smart and talented,” she said. “You would pass your N.E.W.T.s with no problems, I know you would. I’d help!”

“Hermione, Ron and I wouldn’t even have been able to take Potions last year if Slughorn hadn’t accepted Exceeds Expectations,” Harry said. “What if we went back and our marks weren’t good enough? You know we’ve wanted to be Aurors since fourth year.”

“I know, but—“

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance, Hermione,” Ron said. “I can’t turn it down. You can understand that, can’t you?”

“But—“ Her lip trembled, and Harry could tell she was trying to stay calm. “But I’ve never been at Hogwarts without either of you.” Her gaze shifted from Ron to Harry and back.

And for the first time in a long time, Harry remembered the first months of their first year, when Hermione had been— well, such an prissy, overbearing know-it-all that no one had liked her and she had spent all her time alone.

“You won’t be alone,” Harry said. “You’ll be in Ginny’s year— and Luna’s! You know lots of seventh years from the DA.”

“But I want you to come with me,” Hermione said, and this time she looked up directly into Ron’s face.

Harry slipped out the front door unnoticed.

Most of the Order members had left. Amy was talking with Bill, Fleur, Charlie, and the other international guests, and Harry saw Professor McGonagall hug Mrs. Weasley before walking in his direction.

She pulled something out of her pocket, and Harry recognized the flask Hermione had conjured in the Shrieking Shack.

“Your irrefutable evidence, Mr. Potter.”

Harry took the vial of memories. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” McGonagall said. She studied him for a moment, then said, “I’m not going to see you in September, am I?”

He shook his head.

She extended her hand but didn’t let go when Harry shook it, instead bringing her left hand up to clasp his hand between both of hers. “It has been a privilege, Harry.”

“For me too, Professor.”

Harry watched her go, a little sad at the realization that no more school meant no more of some of his favorite people, as well. To dispel that thought, he turned back to the tables. Ginny had a stack of plates in her left arm and was wrapping her right around a large serving dish.

“Here, let me get that,” Harry said, levitating them with his wand. “You get the cutlery.”

Harry continued floating items into the kitchen as Ginny started washing up.

“What did Kingsley want to talk to you about?” Ginny said as Harry carefully lowered the last load onto the cluttered kitchen table.

Would Ginny have the same reaction as Hermione? Was she expecting him to come back to Hogwarts with her in the autumn?

“He offered me, Ron, and Hermione places in the Auror Academy. Without our N.E.W.T.s.”

“That’s great, Harry! When do you start?”

He looked up, surprised.

“You did say yes, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes, but—“

“You’ve always wanted to be an Auror,” Ginny said, setting a plate aside to be rinsed and starting on another one. “And you loved Hogwarts because it gave you friends and a place to belong, not because you loved school. Although you did well enough,” she added, smiling.

This was one of the many wonderful things about Ginny, the way she understood without having to be told.

“He wanted us to start with the rest of the class in August, but I said we were taking the summer off.”

“Really?” A third plate slid out of her grasp with a splash as she turned to face him fully. She blushed slightly. “I’m glad. I like having the extra time with you.”

Harry smiled back. “Me too.”

“So, when do you start?” Ginny turned back to the sink.

Someday he was going to have to tell her how adorable he found her when she was embarrassed, and maybe then she would stop hiding it from him.

“The second of September. I want to see you off to Hogwarts.” As he hoped, this earned him another radiant smile.

“Is Ron waiting too?”

“I think so. Hermione’s disappointed that we’re not going back with her.”

Ginny grimaced. “I tried to warn her that I didn’t think you would, but she’s been so stressed about her parents….”

“Do you know how her meeting went with McGonagall and Flitwick today?” Harry began rinsing and drying.

“Not really. She started to tell me about it before dinner, but then everyone came in to help, and….“ She shrugged.

“I was glad to see your mum outside,” he said tentatively, unsure if this was an okay topic.

“So was I,” Ginny said, her relief obvious. “I’ve been really worried about her. She’s hardly eating at all.”

“I’m sure … maybe in a few days….” Harry didn’t know what to say. Exactly how long was normal for a mother not to appear at mealtimes after the death of her child?

But Ginny seemed to appreciate the sentiment and nodded. “I hope so. I’m hoping maybe when Mrs. Tonks comes over tomorrow, since they both— since they’re both mothers, maybe she— maybe Mum will talk to her.”

Since they both had lost a child, Ginny meant. “Do you think so?”

“Well, I know they used to be friends.”

“I wondered … what with Bellatrix … and your mum … sisters….” Harry let his voice trail off as the realization broke over Ginny’s face.

She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, Merlin, my mother killed her sister!”

Harry nodded. Ginny gaped.

“But Bellatrix is the one who killed Tonks,” Harry said. “Don’t you think that would matter more, that she would want justice for her daughter’s death?”

“Still, that’s just awful,” Ginny whispered. “I was thinking about her losing her husband and her daughter just a couple of months apart, but…. I mean, Bellatrix was insane, but still. And the way they’re all intertwined … that’s horrible.”

Harry wished he hadn’t said anything. “Maybe Mrs. Tonks and your mum can help each other.”

“Maybe. I hope so,” she repeated.

There was something else Harry had been worrying about, something not nearly so important or depressing.

“I’ve been thinking about tomorrow, about Teddy’s visit,” he said, reaching around Ginny to put some of the dishes away. “What— what are we going to do?”

“What do you mean, what are we going to do?”

“Well, with Teddy. I don’t know any nursery rhymes or baby games or—“

Ginny laughed. “Oh, Harry, he’s too little for games. He’s what, a month old? He doesn’t do anything except sleep and eat.”

Harry couldn’t hide his disappointment. “Oh.”

“But you can hold him and talk to him so he’ll learn to recognize your face and your voice,” she added. “And I made a hat and booties for him. I was going to give them to Tonks, when I saw her next….”

Harry squeezed Ginny’s shoulder, but his thoughts were elsewhere. “I don’t have a gift for him. I should, shouldn’t I? Sort of a ‘welcome to the world’ gift?” He had vague memories of Aunt Petunia buying gifts for various friends and Dursley relatives, but that seemed to be before the baby was born. “Or is it a gift for the mother?”

“No, it would be for the baby.” Ginny unplugged the drain and wrung out the dishcloth. “You’ve been rather busy of late. I’m sure Mrs. Tonks doesn’t expect anything.”

“Still….” He wanted to do this godfather thing right.

“Well, we could go to Diagon Alley over the weekend, if you like.”

“Yeah, I would. Thanks, Ginny.”

“Thank you,” she said, looking round at the clean kitchen. “You’re the only one who stayed to help.”

“I think Ron and Hermione are a bit busy.” Harry smirked.

Ginny laughed. “Well, let’s get our brooms and try not to find them.”


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I'm writing for National Novel Writing Month--the second fic in this three-part series, which covers Ron and Hermione's summer after the war. Summary and non-spoilery excerpts can be found at **nanowrimo.org/participants/keeptheotherone**. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

“Heads up, guys.” It was Harry’s voice, and an instant later he Side-Along Apparated Ginny onto the second floor roof behind Bill.

“Thanks.”

“It’s no problem. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Another _pop_ as Harry Disapparated, then Ginny jumped down between George and Ron, narrowly missing Percy’s outstretched leg. She leaned forward, took a glass and a bottle of wine (Bill could not get used to grabbing five glasses for himself and his brothers, instead of six), poured herself a half, and returned the wine to the liquor collection in the center of the group.

“We should talk about it,” she said.

“Talk about what?” Bill said, although he thought he knew.

“Fred. His funeral. His life. What George wants to do with the shop. We should talk about it.”

“I’m keeping the shop!”

“Why now?” Charlie asked.

“Because Ron is leaving in three days, and we don’t know when he’ll be back. Because I miss him— Fred, I mean. Because Mum— Mummy won’t talk about him. She won’t hardly talk at all,” Ginny whispered.

Ron put his arm round her shoulders. George traded his shot glass for a bottle.

“It was nice of Amy to come,” Percy said finally, and everyone gave a murmur of agreement.

“Lee gave a nice speech,” Ginny said.

“He would have hated it,” George said. “The service, the speeches, the dress robes. Fred would have hated it.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said slowly. “I reckon he would have, at that.”

Ron laughed suddenly, but the sound was stilted and grating. “Remember what he said at Bill’s wedding? About everyone wearing whatever they liked and putting Mum in a Full Body-Bind until it was all over?”

George nodded and took another slug from his bottle. Bill realized Fred must have been talking about plans for his own wedding; the wedding he would never have. Bill took another drink, even as he knew there wasn’t enough liquor in the world to drown this ache.

“Your favorite thing about Fred in ten words or less,” he said. “Charlie, go.”

“Flying.”

“Perce?”

“Every time he made me mad, he made me laugh.”

Ron counted on his fingers.

“It’s ten, Ron,” Percy said. “Just for that, you go next.”

“He shared.”

“Gin-Gin?”

“I was a sister, not the baby.”

“He always was your favorite,” George said.

“That’s not true!”

“Yeah, we all know Bill’s your favorite,” Ron said seriously.

Bill snorted. That was rich, coming from her _real_ favorite brother.

“That’s not true, either!”

“Well, we know it’s not Percy,” Charlie said.

“Shut up!” Ginny sat bolt upright, glaring round at all of them.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Charlie said. “I was just—“

“Shut up,” she said again, though more calmly. “You’re all my favorite, just for different reasons.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s mine?” George said, rather sharply.

Ginny hesitated.

“See?”

“Would you shut up already? It’s because you let me be mad at Ron without making me feel I was a bad friend.”

“When did I do that?” George sounded surprised.

“Loads of times. Ron’s first year, for starters.”

“Oh, Ginny, I’m sor—“

“See?” she said to George. “That’s why I didn’t want to say anything, not because I didn’t have a reason.”

“I can’t be your favorite for anything.” Percy drained his glass and took the bottle from Bill without waiting for an offer.

“Of course you can. You’re my favorite girl brother.”

Ginny grinned at the newly (and still tentatively) restored brother as everyone else laughed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ginny’s face relaxed from mischief to affection. “You never gave me a hard time about being a girl.”

Percy looked nonplussed. “Well, of course I didn’t. There’s nothing wrong with being a girl.”

Ginny gave Bill and Charlie a “so there” look.

“Now wait one minute,” Charlie said. “I distinctly remember sitting through more than one tea party with you and your stuffed animals.”

“Me too,” Bill said. “In those tetchy chairs with my knees around my ears.”

“You two only came if Mum gave me real biscuits,” Ginny accused.

Bill exchanged a guilty glance with Charlie. “We didn’t think you noticed.”

“I was at those tea parties too,” Ron said, his dislike of tea parties more than obvious.

“Percy came even if the biscuits were imaginary, and _he_ always had good manners, and he would plait my hair, not just throw it in some sloppy ponytail, and—“ She broke off.

“And I told you you’d grow up to be the best-looking of all of us. Which you did.”

“Well, it’s not like it was hard.”

Bill saw George’s expression flicker briefly. If there was anyone who could match George in wit now that Fred was gone, it would be Ginny. Experience had taught them all to watch their backs when those three got together.

Which they would never do again.

“Why don’t I remember this?” George frowned.

“Because you and Fred were always playing with each other. Oh, _shut up_!”

Percy snorted at Ginny’s unfortunate choice of words, then grabbed his nose, gasping a swear as the Firewhisky burned through his nasal passages. Ginny scrambled away from Ron as he sputtered with laughter, and Bill moved the liquor bottles out of the way.

“That was priceless, Ginny,” Charlie said, wiping his eyes as the laughter died down and moving to make room for her between himself and George.

Ginny was muttering something about boys and gutters when Ron nudged her with his foot.

“What would you know about it, anyway?”

“Yes, Ron, I’ve had six brothers and three boyfriends, and I still don’t know anything about sex. Besides—“

“That’s enough, Ginny,” Bill said. If Ron hadn’t figured out yet that was not a wizards’-only activity, he certainly didn’t need to hear it from their little sister. Bill took a large gulp of Firewhisky to erase the thought.

“Whatever you know, just keep it to yourself,” Charlie said firmly.

“That’s not fair,” Ginny said. “You lot talk about sex, why can’t I?”

“Behave, or we’ll throw you off,” Percy said.

“Fred wouldn’t have thrown me off the roof, would he, George?”

“Oi, talk about fair,” Ron protested.

“I don’t know,” George said. “He dangled you over Ron’s bannister one time.”

“Shit, I forgot about that,” Bill said. “I thought I was going to lose a sister and a brother that day, Mum was so mad.”

“She shouldn’t have tattled.”

“I shouldn’t have gone to Romania,” Charlie said suddenly, and the mood on the roof shifted at once.

Bill looked down at him, stretched out on his back along the slope of the roof, staring up into the sky. Charlie had sneaked his own bottle of Firewhisky too, and it was about a third gone. _Shit_.

“It wouldn’t have changed what happened, Charlie,” Bill said. “Tonks was an Auror. Even with a newborn, she came to the Battle. You couldn’t change who she was.”

Charlie balanced the liquor bottle on his chest, still not looking at any of them.

“You and Tonks?” Ron said. “When was this?”

Bill held his breath. Charlie hadn’t spoken of his relationship with Tonks in years, not since they ended it.

“At Hogwarts. We were best friends. A lot like you and Hermione, actually, except we couldn’t make it work.”

“Did you—but you stayed friends, right?”

Charlie smiled, and Bill let his breath out slowly. “Can you imagine not being friends with Tonks?”

There was a round of relieved laughter. Friendly, bubbly, exuberant Tonks, as annoying as she could be, was impossible not to like.

“Hell, Ginny,” Charlie said, sitting up and, to Bill’s relief, setting the bottle of Firewhisky back in the middle of the group with the others, “you probably got some good dirt on both me and Bill, as cozy as you two were at Grimmauld Place.”

Ginny smirked, causing Bill to mentally run through the teenage escapades to which Tonks had been witness.

“I did,” she said. “And _she_ didn’t care if we talked about sex.”

“What did she say?”

Godric, Charlie must be pissed if he was asking that. Bill braced himself for something outrageous.

“To choose someone who liked me with my robes on, and since it hurts like hell the first time, be sure to do it at least twice,” Ginny said promptly.

Charlie winced. Bill squeezed his shoulder in sympathy.

“I thought—“ Ginny hesitated, looking from one brother to the next. “I thought it couldn’t be helped.”

“Yes, well, we all like to think we’re better than that,” Percy said.

Everyone fell silent as they realized they had no idea what had happened in Percy’s life in the last three years.

“Whatever happened to Penelope?” Ginny said.

“I don’t know,” Percy said, and the anguish in his voice was palpable. “All I know is that she never appeared before the Muggle-Born Registration Commission.”

Bill watched as George studied Percy’s slumped shoulders and hanging head and showed him the first kindness Bill had seen since Fred’s death. “She never appeared on our lists of murdered Muggle-borns, either, Perce.”

“What lists?”

“Lee Jordan put together a radio broadcast with the real news called ‘Potterwatch.’ We reported the deaths and missing persons and other news items that the _Daily Prophet_ wouldn’t,” George said.

Percy scowled. “If anyone from the Ministry for Magic had caught you, if you had been heard—“

“We would have been in big trouble,” George said sarcastically. “We didn’t care. Some of us actually—“

“What about the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, Percy?”

He turned to Ginny. “What?”

“You said you knew Penelope never appeared. Was that because her name was in one of the _Prophet’s_ lists of people who missed their court date? I saw Hermione, and Dean, and Colin and Dennis….”

Bill had first fully appreciated the difficulty of Ginny’s position during the war on the night he evacuated his family to Auntie Muriel’s house. Ginny’s boyfriend, her closest brother, and her best friend had been Voldemort’s three most wanted, and now Bill realized yet another piece: Ginny had returned to school last September without any of her Muggle-born friends or classmates, with no way of knowing if they were safe or even alive.

Percy’s jaw tightened and released, but he didn’t look at Ginny. He stared at George. “I know Penny never appeared because I monitored the Commission’s schedule for underage wizards and witches. It’s how I first made contact with Aberforth Dumbledore. He approached me about assisting with their paperwork.”

George snorted, and both Ron and Ginny, seated on either side of him, elbowed him in the ribs.

“What are you talking about?” Charlie said.

“Professor McGonagall had access to the names of all the underage wizards and witches, even the ones who hadn’t been accepted to Hogwarts yet.”

“ _The Destiny of the Names_ ,” Bill breathed. “The book that records the name of every witch and wizard in Britain on the day of their birth.”

“Exactly. She passed the names in batches to Aberforth, he passed them to me, and I lost the paperwork for as many Muggle-borns as possible.”

Bill was stunned, and judging from the looks on Charlie’s, George’s, Ron’s, and Ginny’s faces, so were they.

“You’ve been working for the Order?” Ron said.

“Well, since August, at least. After the announcement was made about the Muggle-Born Registration Commission and mandatory attendance at Hogwarts. You needn’t look so shocked,” Percy said irritably. “I was a Gryffindor too.”

“We thought that was just a fluke,” George said. “Like the Sorting Hat saw your hair and your freckles and didn’t bother to consider you for any other house.”

“I grew up in the same family you did. I may have been a pretentious prat with more pride than good sense, but I didn’t forget what Mum and Dad taught us. The Commission was barbaric, asinine, a complete farce. If magic could be stolen, there would be no Squibs. It was nothing more than an abuse of power by those who thought possessing it gave them the right to rule.”

Bill raised his glass in a toast. “Spoken like a true Knight of the Round Table, Perce.”

“Shut up,” Percy muttered, his ears reddening.

“Why didn’t you come to the meeting tonight?” Bill said. “If you were working for the Order, you should have been there.”

“I didn’t want to have to explain,” Percy said quietly. “It wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t go on missions or fight like the rest of you did.”

Ginny climbed over George and Ron to give Percy a hug. “I’m proud of you, Percy. That was important work.”

“You all did important work for the Order for a lot longer than I did.”

“We don’t intend to let you forget it, either,” Ron said.

“Or that you’re the best girl brother,” Charlie added.

Percy actually seemed comforted by the harassment. Bill wasn’t surprised; it was a constant in the Weasley family.

Ginny snuggled under George’s outstretched arm and took another sip of wine. “You didn’t tell us your favorite thing about Fred,” she said gently.

George hesitated for so long that Bill thought he wasn’t going to answer.

“Everything.”

Yeah, that pretty much covered it.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Harry sat obediently at the sitting room window, following Ginny’s instructions to let her know the instant Mrs. Tonks and Teddy appeared at the garden gate. Ginny had her mother’s best tea service laid out on the kitchen table, along with an array of delectable pastries and sandwiches he had been forbidden to touch. But Harry wasn’t tempted. He was thinking about flying with Ginny last night and wondering why, in light of everything he had done over the last year— over the last seven years, really— he found it so difficult to kiss her.

It hadn’t been difficult last year. Last year, the only difficulty involved with kissing Ginny had been stopping. But ever since the Battle— well, since their argument— Harry found himself reluctant. He liked the idea very much, but he couldn’t seem to carry it out. She had apologized. She had kissed him twice. She had flirted with him as they flew, and snuggled under his arm after they secured their broomsticks in the broom shed last night, and looked up at him when they reached the back door, and still, Harry couldn’t bring himself to kiss her. He wanted to; he was reasonably certain she wanted him to; but every time he started to actually lean in, every time he focused on her lips, all he could think about was those hateful words coming out of her mouth. He had been so eager to see Ginny, just to hold her and reassure himself that she was all right, and the first thing she had done was drive a knife straight into his heart. That afternoon at Hogwarts, when he had asked her how he could be sure of her, she had said he would have to trust her. He was trying; and he had to admit, Ginny had been nothing but warm, understanding, and empathetic since then, but…. He wanted this _so much_. So much that it frightened him sometimes.

He sighed. There was still no sign of his godson. He should just do it, be a Gryffindor and walk up to her and kiss her like he had in the common room that first time. No thought, no worry, just Ginny and the feel of her in his arms….

“Does this look okay?”

Harry turned around. Ginny wore a simple set of pale blue witch’s robes. “It’s fine. I mean, you look really nice.” He glanced down at his Muggle t-shirt, jeans, and trainers. “Do I need to change?”

“I don’t think so. Like I said, Mrs. Tonks isn’t pretentious, I’m just…. “

“You’re nervous.” Harry followed her into the kitchen, where she began fiddling with all the utensils and china she had already laid out.

“I guess. I just want this to go well.”

“She raised Tonks and Tonks was great. I’m sure her mum’s not an ogre, Ginny.”

“I know, but she is Teddy’s grandmother, his guardian, and I know how much being his godfather means to you. In order to have the kind of relationship with him that you want, you and she need to get along well, and I want to do whatever I can to help with that, and….“

Ginny prattled on, but Harry was no longer listening. She was doing this for him? Worrying about him, trying to make everything perfect, all to help him be the kind of godfather he never got to have?

Harry grabbed her arm and spun her around. His aim was a bit off, and they connected with more force than he intended, but Ginny didn’t seem to mind. She tilted her head so her lower lip slid between his, and her eyes went soft and golden before drifting shut. _This_ … this was the blissful oblivion he had longed for; the warmth of her breath as they barely separated, then came together again; the way the shape of her mouth conformed to his; her long hair slipping over his arms like silk. He had just pulled her closer, cradled her neck in one hand, when an excited squeal penetrated his senses.

“They’re here!”

Ginny broke the kiss, stepping back and taking a deep breath before hurrying out of the kitchen to greet Mrs. Tonks. Harry was vaguely aware of Ron and Hermione in the next room, of other voices, but most especially his own rubbish sense of timing.

It would be hours before he could get Ginny alone and do that again.

()()()()

“Oh, Harry, there you are!” Hermione turned around with Teddy in her arms. “Here, you should take him.”

“Me? I— I’ve never held a baby.” Shouldn’t there be a permit for that sort of thing, or lessons, at least? Perhaps a Levitation Charm so the baby couldn’t be dropped?

“It’s quite simple, Harry,” Percy said. “Just crook your elbow like this.” He demonstrated by making a V shape between his upper arm and forearm, and when Harry copied him, Percy took the baby from Hermione and laid him gently in Harry’s grasp. “Mind his head, now,” Percy said. “It will flop everywhere if you don’t support it for him.”

Harry brought his other hand up to cup Teddy’s round, fuzzy blue head.

“He’s awake,” Harry said, looking down into the wide blue eyes. “What color were Tonks’s eyes— her real ones, I mean?” he asked her mother.

“Brown,” Mrs. Tonks said softly. “Nymphadora’s eyes were brown.”

“But how is that possible?” Hermione said. “Lupin’s were brown too, and that’s a dominant trait. Two brown-eyed parents can’t have a blue-eyed baby.”

“Hermione,” Ron said under his breath, obviously thinking, as Harry was, that she was questioning the baby’s paternity.

“Most babies are born with blue eyes,” Percy said. “They change in the first few months.”

“Really?” Ginny and Hermione said together.

“Yes.” Percy smiled at his sister. “Haven’t you ever noticed that yours are blue in your earliest pictures?”

Ginny shook her head, leaning against Harry to admire the baby. Harry held very, very still.

“Charlie!” Mrs. Tonks gave the first genuine smile Harry had seen, and in it, he saw a trace of her daughter’s infectious joy. “Don’t lurk in the doorway. I know full well your mother raised you better than that. Come meet Teddy.” She raised her arms, and Charlie stepped into her embrace. “How are you?” she asked, holding him at arm’s length and looking him over.

“I’m fine. Tonks really did it, huh?”

“Yes, she did. He looks like her.”

“Yeah, he does.” Charlie’s voice was husky. Harry remembered Charlie and Tonks had gone to school together, and Fred and George said they used to be more than friends.

“Where’s Molly? I’d like to talk with her while I’m here.”

“She’s out in the back garden,” Ron said. “She’s expecting you.”

Charlie looked at Harry. “May I?”

Harry nodded, and Charlie made the same cradle with his arm that Percy had shown Harry.

“Watch his head,” Hermione said anxiously.

Charlie ignored her; Harry reckoned he had held lots more babies than Hermione. Harry leaned towards Charlie, not quite sure how to make the transfer, but Charlie slid his arm between Harry and Teddy, and suddenly the baby was his. Harry felt both relieved and oddly bereft at the same time.

“He does look like her,” Charlie said, holding out one finger for the baby to grasp. “But Nymph’s eyes were brown.”

No one spoke into the silence.

“I want a turn,” Ginny said after a few minutes and nudged her brother. “Don’t be a baby hog.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Charlie retorted, but he turned towards his little sister, who already had her arms out. “Mind his—“

“His head, yes, I know.”

“Well, Bill dropped Ron, and he’s never been the same since.”

“No, he didn’t!” Hermione sounded as if she didn’t know whether to laugh or be sympathetic.

“He did,” Percy confirmed. “Ron was over a year, though. It was the day Ginny was born.”

“We should have taken a picture of Teddy and Charlie,” Ginny said, grinning up at her brother. “Then Mum would _really_ be on him about getting married.“

“As long as it’s not you,” Charlie and Percy said together, and Ginny made a face.

“Here, Harry, take him back,” she said. “I’m going to put the kettle on.”

Harry made the V cradle again, but Ginny wasn’t as experienced as her brothers. This transfer was a little bumpy, and Teddy began to fuss.

“Don’t look at me—I’m the youngest.”

“But what do I do?” Harry said, as Teddy’s whimpers turned to wails, and he waved his fists and kicked his blanket off.

“Move, Harry,” Hermione laughed.

He scooted over, expecting her to sit down beside him.

“No, I mean move with the baby. Rock him.”

Harry looked around for a rocking chair.

“Here.”

She pulled Harry to a standing position and, with one hand on each shoulder, pushed him side to side. “You might want to try bouncing him too.”

Harry was quite certain if he did that, Teddy would end up on the floor. But Harry moved side to side as Hermione had shown him, and Teddy stopped trying to throw himself off and began sucking on one fist.

“Where’s his bag?” Charlie said, looking round the room. “She must have brought a bottle with her.”

Harry did not feel reassured by this idea and half-wished Teddy would start crying again so Mrs. Tonks or Mrs. Weasley might come in and take care of him.

“How did you know to do that?” Ron asked Hermione. “You don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“Siblings aren’t the only way to get experience with babies, Ron.”

“Don’t tell me you read it in a book.”

“Well, yes,” she admitted, taking the bottle from Charlie and reversing the cooling charm. “But rocking a baby is just instinctive, isn’t it? Here, do you want to feed him? You haven’t had a chance to hold him yet.”

“Me? No, I—“

“Yes, you,” Harry said, shifting Teddy so that he had one hand under his head and one under his bum. “It’s your turn.” He shoved the baby at Ron, both arms outstretched.

“Not like that, you’ll drop him. Here.” Hermione rearranged Ron and Teddy to her satisfaction, much to the amusement of their unnoticed audience.

“Don’t go getting any ideas, Ron,” Percy said.

“Shut up.”

Ron’s words had less venom than usual, preoccupied as he was with not dropping the baby, not eating Hermione’s hair, and not dripping the bottle all over himself. Soon the loudest noise in the room was Teddy’s greedy gulps.

“Don’t get too good at that,” Charlie advised. “Bill and Fleur might be putting you to work soon.”

Ginny gasped, returning to the room with her hands full with a heavy tea tray (but not the nice dishes). “Fleur’s pregnant?”

“No, Fleur’s not pregnant, and for Merlin’s sake, don’t say I said so.” Charlie took the tray from her and set it on the sideboard. “I just wouldn’t be surprised if they start trying.”

“Oh, I hope it’s a girl!” Ginny said, pouring tea. “It would be lovely to have another girl in the family.”

“I thought we had to wait for Mrs. Tonks,” Ron said, swiping a scone from the tray as Ginny turned to pass cups to Charlie and Percy.

“Mum said she would serve.”

“Fleur is a girl,” Percy said with such seriousness that Charlie, Ron, and Harry snickered. “Well, you always used to say how much you wanted a sister, and—“

“That is not what I meant and you know it. A baby girl would be lovely.”

“Don’t go getting—“

“Shut up,” Ginny said.

()()()()

Harry had survived his first burping and his first nappy change and had even been christened by a mouthful of spit-up, and now he sat in the armchair in the Burrow’s sitting room with a sleeping Teddy cradled against his chest. The baby’s hair had turned light brown shortly after he fell asleep, and with dark lashes on chubby cheeks and a tiny fist curled near his pink mouth, Teddy was the picture of innocence. He had lungs that would shame an opera singer and a grip like iron, and Harry thought he was the most brilliant thing ever.

He heard a clicking noise and turned to see Ginny waving aside a cloud of purple smoke with a camera in her other hand.

“Is he still sleeping?” she whispered, tiptoeing across the room and peering over Harry’s shoulder.

He nodded.

“He’s so adorable.” She sat on the arm of the chair and smiled down at Teddy. “I think Mum has talked Mrs. Tonks into staying for dinner.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “I think their visit has been good for both of them, just like you said.”

Harry glanced at the camera. “Do you know how to develop wizarding pictures?”

“As long as we have some of the developing potion around. Mum and Dad know how to make it, but I can’t yet.”

Ginny frowned at the camera, but Harry didn’t think she was thinking about her seventeenth birthday.

“I miss Colin,” she said. “Every time I see something I want to remember, I think of him. He documented our whole lives at Hogwarts for the pupils in our year. Hanging out in the common room, revising in the library, lessons, Quidditch, the chess and Gobstone clubs, feasts in the Great Hall, just … everything. He made albums of every year, and we used to get together on the last night of term and look through them. He even had a picture of our kiss in the common room, did you know that?”

Harry shook his head.

“I can’t imagine going back to school without him.”

Harry reached for her hand and Ginny squeezed back.

()()()()

Ginny slipped out of her room when she heard footsteps on the stairs and met Harry on the landing. They walked through the house and into the garden without speaking, and when she didn’t turn towards the broom shed, Harry didn’t question her. She led the way across the garden, through the hedge, and up the hill to the orchard, stopping in the open field just the other side of the apple trees.

“I don’t feel much like flying tonight,” she said.

“Me either,” Harry said.

They fell silent. It was hard to see his face; the moon was out, but he had his back to it. They stood close but not touching, and Ginny hated the awkwardness that lingered between them.

He laced his fingers with hers. “It hasn’t been quite the reunion I imagined.”

Nor for her, although it was her own fault. “What was that?”

Harry used his free hand to brush her hair behind her shoulder and let it rest on her back. “Something more like The Quidditch Kiss.”

“Mmmm.” She tilted her head; he had lowered his. “What if we skipped the ‘everybody’s watching’ part and went straight to the ‘long walk in the grounds’ part?”

Harry closed the distance between them. Unlike their first kiss, and this morning, this one was deliberate. Intentional. Gentle at first, hesitant, then as they recognized the familiar, the kiss strengthened, deepened. Ginny cupped Harry’s face in her hands and drank him in, let the feel and taste and scent of him soothe her doubts. He had come back, he had survived, and he wanted her. The hand on her back slid around her waist, and he pulled her closer. She went on tiptoe, linking her arms behind his neck, pressing herself against him, desperate to show him she wanted him too. She wanted to replace the memory of her outburst in the common room with a demonstration of how she really felt. Harry broke the kiss and pulled her down onto the grass.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he promised. “Where I’ve been, what we’ve been doing—“

“Tell me later, kiss me now.”

And he did.

()()()()

“I noticed you didn’t volunteer to help at the Dursleys’ tomorrow,” Hermione said.

It was late. Harry had gone up to Ron’s room, and the girls were getting ready for bed.

Ginny gave Arnold a spoonful of food, stroking his back with one finger before latching his cage. “Did Harry notice?”

“I don’t think so, but it’s not like you not to help Harry. What’s up?”

“Nothing’s up,” Ginny said, sitting down with her back to Hermione and picking up her hairbrush.

Hermione said nothing as she pulled her pajama top over her head.

Ginny tossed her brush back on the desk with a clatter. “I don’t want to help them. They never gave Harry a shred of help, not with anything, and as far as I’m concerned they can come home to a pile of ashes!”

“They’ve been in hiding for a year, Ginny. We owe it to them to help them resume their lives.”

“No, you owe it to your parents to help them resume their lives because they never did anything to put you in danger and cared for you your whole life. The Dursleys bullied and abused Harry, and I will never forgive them for that!” Ginny wrenched the covers back, then bent over to tuck the blanket back in.

Hermione had one leg in and one leg out of her denims. “Be the better person, Ginny. They think the worst of the magical community. We owe it to Harry to prove them wrong.”

Ginny sat on her bed, arms and legs crossed. She could not believe Hermione was lecturing her about this. “You go and spend your day cleaning the Muggle way then. I wouldn’t be able to keep my wand to myself, so I’m keeping myself right here.”

“Well, I have considered filling their candy dish with Puking Pastilles.“

“Make it Cockroach Clusters,” Ginny said darkly.

Hermione sighed and nudged Crookshanks to the foot of her bed. “What I would really like to do is tell them about Harry. What he’s _really_ like, to find some way to destroy their preconceived ideas.”

“That’s what makes me so angry with them,” Ginny said, crawling under the covers. “No one deserves to be treated the way Harry was, but Harry … he’s so special. The way they made him feel like a freak, as if he doesn’t deserve to be loved, as if he wasn’t worthy of their time and attention—they couldn’t be more wrong. Harry should have turned out a monster with the childhood he had, but he’s the best person I know.”

“I know.”

Ginny stared up at her ceiling, at the stars Mum and Dad had painted and charmed for her nightlight. Well, for all of them really; this room had always been the nursery. There were just no more babies after her. “Do you really think I should go?”

“I think you should ask Harry. You don’t want to find out months from now that you hurt his feelings by acting like you don’t care about his family.”

“I don’t care about his family.”

“I know, but Harry does. Or he feels responsible for them, at least. For bringing all this trouble to their doorstep.”

Ginny sighed. “Now that’s one aspect of Harry I could live without, the guilt.”

“It’s too soon, Ginny. Too much loss.”

“I know. Are you going, or do you have more stuff to do before Saturday?”

“There’s still a lot to do, but Ron and I will be there, at least for a couple of hours. Mrs. Figg and I are the only ones with a Muggle background.”

“Hermione?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For caring about Harry.”

“Well, like you said, it’s easy to do.”

()()()()

Ginny shivered in the early morning air and stuck her hands in her pockets. “Are you sure you have everything?” she said, ignoring Ron’s “don’t get her started” glare.

Hermione nodded but opened her beaded bag anyway and peered inside. “Muggle clothes and robes for both of us, including jackets and cloaks, since it’s almost winter there; my Muggle passport— I’ve applied for Ron’s, and Harry’s going to pick it up from the British consulate and send it on; contact information for the Australian Ministry for Magic; Harry’s introduction letter; Muggle money; wizarding money; my parents’ bank information, credit cards, and passports in their real names; books; snacks and chewing gum; a case of Butterbeer—“

“Why do you need to take food?” Ginny asked. “You’ll be there by lunchtime.”

“We plan to be there by lunchtime,” Hermione said in an ominous tone that Ginny thought was quite uncalled for.

“I’ll explain later,” Harry said quietly, and Ginny smiled at him.

“That’s everything, then,” Ron said, stretching out a large hand over the opening of the bag, and Hermione closed it with a sigh.

“I think so.” She glanced at the rolled up newspaper on the garden bench, then at her watch. “We’ll send you an address as soon as we can.”

Ginny stepped forward and hugged her. “It’s going to be fine. I love you.”

Hermione’s arms tightened around her. “I love you too.”

Ginny pushed back Hermione’s hair so she could whisper straight into her ear. “I know he can be a prat, but he really cares about you. Don’t forget that, okay?” Hermione nodded. “And I expect you to take advantage of those long, cold nights.”

“Ginny!”

She smirked at her blushing best friend and turned to her brother. “Take care of her.”

“I will.” Ron returned her hug with more force than usual. “I love you.”

Ginny didn’t want to let go. She knew her brothers loved her, of course she did, but it was unusual for Ron to say it so directly. Fred was gone, and Charlie would go back to Romania soon, and Percy and George wouldn’t stay at the Burrow forever…. She looked into Ron’s face and suddenly realized how much he was giving up to be there for Hermione.

Ron watched Harry as he hugged Hermione goodbye.

“I’ll take care of him,” Ginny said. “I promise.”

“I know you will.” Ron smiled at her and tugged her ponytail.

“Ron!”

The newspaper glowed blue. Ron and Hermione grabbed it, Ginny saw them reach for each other with their free hands, and then they were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is possible for two brown-eyed parents to have a blue-eyed baby if each parent carries the recessive allele for blue eyes (a one in four chance with each pregnancy). Hermione is a genius, but let's not forget she only took Muggle science through primary school; I think I was fourteen or fifteen before I studied Mendelian diagrams. It is true that most Caucasian babies are born with blue eyes.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm soooo, so sorry! I don't know what to say other than to apologize profusely--I completely forgot to post not once, but twice :( I will double post tonight as soon as I get the next chapter edited, and then I'll resume the Wednesday schedule. With a calendar alert this time....

Harry was moping. Ron and Hermione had been gone for barely twenty-four hours, and Harry had wandered aimlessly about the house all morning. Considering how little time the three of them had spent together since arriving at the Burrow, his hangdog expression and dejected posture were almost funny. But Ginny didn’t have the heart to tease, not when there was so much at stake. She found Harry in Ron’s room, feeding Pig treats as he flapped around Harry’s head. She sat down next to him on the camp bed.

“Do you want to go to Diagon Alley?”

“No, thanks.”

“I thought you might want to shop for Teddy’s gift.”

Harry looked up. “I forgot about that.”

“So, you’re not upset that I didn’t go with Ron and Hermione to your aunt and uncle’s house on Friday?”

“No! I told you, you didn’t have to go if you didn’t want to. It made me feel better about not going, honestly.”

“Good. Then let’s go out this afternoon. We could have lunch at the Leaky. You wouldn’t have to suffer through more of my cooking.” Mum still wasn’t taking any interest in caring for the family.

“It’s not that bad.”

Ginny caught Pig and closed him in his cage. “Once Dad or Charlie magic it into something edible, you mean.”

Harry gave her a faint smile.

“Come on, put on a decent shirt. Let’s go to lunch.”

Ginny and Harry traveled by Floo powder to the Leaky Cauldron and were accosted immediately.

“It’s Harry Potter!”

“It’s Harry!”

“Harry, can I have your autograph?”

“Who’s your girlfriend?”

“Harry!”

Ginny tried to hustle Harry through the crowd of diners rising from their tables and gathering around them, but Harry paused, shaking hands, accepting thanks, fending off quills and pub serviettes and anything even vaguely resembling parchment. They inched their way to the back of the pub only to find the archway to Diagon Alley was already open and more people were streaming in. Harry started to look a little panicked. Ginny didn’t like it either; in their eagerness to approach their hero, the wizards and witches (especially the witches, she noticed) pressed against her, stepped on her toes, pulled on her arm, elbowed her out of the way. She was trying to get close enough to Harry to ask if they could Disapparate from the middle of the pub when a bang echoed through the air.

“Oi, everybody back off!” George shouted, wand in hand. “That’s my sister you oafs are trampling!”

He forced his way through the crowd towards them. Harry pushed Ginny ahead of him, and they followed George into the now-deserted street.

“Hurry up. It won’t take long for them to figure out I’m taking you to the shop.” George wore the unmistakeable magenta robes of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

They broke into a trot, passing several curious shopkeepers standing in their doorways before turning into Number 93. Harry led Ginny past the half-organized shelves into the back room as George warded the front door.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Harry still looked thunderstruck so Ginny answered.

“We came to buy a gift for Teddy.”

“Oh, that’s a brilliant idea. If anyone with a camera spots you two looking at baby things, Rita Skeeter will have you pregnant and engaged before morning.”

Ginny groaned.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said.

“It’s not your fault,” Ginny and George said together.

“But if I—“

Ginny ignored him. “How did you know we were here?” she asked her brother.

“Some fool cast a _Sonorus_ and said Harry Potter was signing autographs in the Leaky Cauldron. The entire street emptied in about ten seconds flat.”

“I can’t believe they want my autograph for killing someone.”

“You didn’t kill him, you disarmed him,” Ginny said. “Voldemort killed himself with his own curse.” Harry looked ready to argue, but she cut him off again. “It’s an important distinction.”

“Forget distinctions.” George looked over his shoulder, but the front windows were blocked by merchandise. “You can’t Disapparate inside the shop, but you should be able to just outside the back door. If you go now, you might have a chance.”

“But what about Teddy’s gift?” Harry said.

“We’ll find something in Ottery St. Catchpole,” Ginny said. “Come on, Harry, let’s go!”

()()()()

Ginny stumbled on landing. She sincerely hoped Apparition was better when you did it yourself; she hated Side-Along.

Harry took her hand. “Let’s walk down to the village. I need some air after that.”

“I’m sorry,” Ginny said. “I shouldn’t have suggested using Floo Powder to get to the Leaky.”

“It would have happened if we Apparated too. I should have expected it.”

“Do you think anyone got a picture?”

“I’m sure someone did. Too many tourists come into the Leaky Cauldron on the weekend for no one to have a camera.” He sent her a sidelong glance. “Our relationship will be household news by tomorrow. They won’t have any trouble identifying you since George said you were his sister.”

“I don’t mind being seen with you, Harry. In fact, I’m proud to be seen with you.”

His features relaxed. “Me too. I mean, to be seen with you.”

She squeezed his hand. “What are you thinking about buying for Teddy?”

“I don’t know. Maybe … maybe a cuddly toy?”

His tentativeness was heartbreaking.

“That’s a good idea. Not a teddy bear, though. Too obvious.”

“No, I was thinking a lion, if we can find one?”

“For Gryffindor. Perfect.” She squeezed Harry’s hand again. “I’m sure Lupin would have approved.”

Harry just nodded. “What about you? I know Ron had a teddy bear. What kind of cuddly toy did you have?”

“A unicorn named Asha.”

“Why Asha?”

“She’s one of the witches in ‘A Fountain of Fair Fortune.’ Don’t tell me you’ve never read Beedle!”

He shrugged.

“But Dumbledore gave Hermione a copy. I can’t believe she never made you read it.”

“Hermione’s copy is written in runes.”

“Oh, that’s right. Percy says I chose the name because it’s the only one of the three I could say, but I always felt sorry for her. What about you?”

Harry went very quiet, not meeting her eyes, and Ginny realized her mistake. “Your aunt and uncle never bought you any toys, did they?”

He shook his head, and she did her best to keep her voice even. “I had an imaginary sister for a while. Did you ever make up any playmates?”

Even though they were alone, even though there were no cars in sight, Ginny had to strain to hear him.

“There was a mouse in my cupboard one winter. Gray, with long whiskers. I named him Stuart, from a book we read at school. He … I used to sneak bread or cheese, anything I could, really, and he would climb up the leg of my bed and sit beside me. I’d tell him about my day while he ate, and after a while, he started sleeping in my shoe. Then one day—“ He cleared his throat. “I forgot to close my cupboard door all the way and he got out. I was upstairs folding Dudley’s laundry, and I heard Aunt Petunia scream and all this banging and thumping.”

Ginny tensed.

“I ran downstairs to find Aunt Petunia beating him with the broom. He was—he was already dead, but she just kept hitting him….”

“Oh, Harry,” Ginny whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “He was just a mouse.”

“He was your friend, and that was a horrible thing to happen. And it wasn’t your fault,” she added. “You were just a child, and sometimes children forget to close doors.”

“I knew—I knew if he got out, Aunt Petunia would kill him. She hates mice, and spiders, and insects, and frogs, and—”

“All the things I grew up with, in other words.”

His smile was forced, but it was there. “Yeah.”

“Well, you buy Teddy a stuffed lion, and I’ll put a frog in his bed, and together we’ll make sure he has a happy childhood.”

()()()()

“Why did you come to Hogwarts?” Harry said.

They were lying underneath the apple trees, the blossoms glowing silver-white in the moonlight. Ron and Hermione had left for Australia yesterday morning, and Harry missed them already. He had been thinking about the night of the Battle for them, going down to the Chamber of Secrets together, their kiss, and it reminded him of seeing Ginny climb into the Room of Requirement and how much he had not wanted her there.

“The night of the Battle?” Ginny lay on her side, pressed close against him with her arm around his waist and her head on his shoulder, and Harry felt her breath against his neck. She was too short to do that when they were standing. It gave him goosebumps.

He nodded.

“Because you were there,” she said simply.

“But I said—you knew I didn’t want you there. You knew I wanted to keep you safe.”

“What about what I wanted? You should have known I would never stay behind.”

Her voice was calm, dispassionate, and Harry risked the question again.

“But why?”

“Because I hate Voldemort too. Because three of my brothers were scarred while fighting against him. Because one of my best friends is Muggle-born and brilliant, and she has as much right to study magic and live in peace as anyone else. Because I believe it’s who you are and what you do that is important, not your bloodline. Because my whole family—my whole family, Harry—was at Hogwarts, and I couldn’t stand to be left behind. Because if there was anything, _anything_ , I could do to help one of you survive, I would do it. Because some things are worth fighting for no matter how young you are.”

“I wasn’t happy to see you.”

“I know.”

“I had looked forward to seeing you for months, but my heart sank like a stone when I saw you behind Fred and George.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

Harry stroked her hair, combing his fingers through its length and letting it fall against her back.

“Remember, that day at the lake, what I said about you going after Voldemort?” Ginny asked.

Harry remembered everything about that day at the lake.

“I knew you would go, eventually. I knew what we had that spring wasn’t going to last, as much as I wanted it to.” She propped herself up on one elbow and looked down at him. “You should have known I wouldn’t sit on the sidelines, not just for you, but for my family. For myself.”

He tugged on her hair gently, and she laid her head back down on his chest. The warmth and weight of her was comforting.

“I was thinking about Ron. And Hermione. I don’t know how he stood it, having her with us. Knowing she was in the thick of things. And—“ He thought of Malfoy Manor, but he didn’t want to talk about it.

Ginny squeezed his waist. “Ron trusted her and he trusted you. The three of you together are unstoppable.”

“I’m proud of you,” Harry said quietly. “You scared the life out of me that night, but I’m proud of you. For fighting Bellatrix, for helping the wounded, for fighting with Tonks … running the DA, fighting Riddle all those years ago…. Just for you. You’re brave and loyal and amazing, and—“

“Oh, Harry.”

Then she kissed him, and Harry tasted the salt of her tears.

()()()()

“You could be a little less friendly,” Bill said, setting the dirty plates in the sink and turning to Fleur, who was slicing chocolate gateau. Since Percy had not met Fleur until the Battle, Bill had invited him for dinner at Shell Cottage.

“You said you wanted this dinner to go well,” Fleur reminded him. “That you wanted to repair the relationship with your brother and make him feel comfortable. You asked me to be nice to him.”

“Sister-nice, not Veela-nice,” Bill grumbled.

Fleur laughed. “He reminds me of you.”

Bill grimaced, but he was honest enough not to deny it.

“When we first met, you were so serious about your work, both for Gringotts and for the Order of the Phoenix. You are both talented, and intelligent, and determined to do well.”

“Yes, well, don’t mention that. That’s what caused Percy to leave, his determination to do well in the Ministry.”

“He wants to do well by you,” Fleur said.

Bill knew that. It was part of the reason he had invited Percy. Bill’s opinion carried a lot of weight with his siblings, and he was hoping that by welcoming Percy into his own home, Percy would feel more welcomed at the Burrow. And maybe, eventually, by George.

Fleur pushed two dessert plates into his hands and picked up the third and the raspberry sauce.

“Let’s go back. He’ll think we’re talking about him.”

“He already knows we’re talking about him.”

“It is only polite to keep it short enough that he can pretend it is not so,” Fleur said, and she reentered the dining room.

They made quick work of the dessert, Percy complimented and thanked his hostess (formally, in French, earning him a wide smile from Fleur and a scowl from his brother), and after they had helped Fleur clear the table, Bill suggested sitting outside.

“It’s beautiful here,” Percy said, sitting on the garden wall and looking out over the sea.

“Yes, it is.”

“I’m sorry I missed your wedding.”

Bill studied his brother for a moment before asking the question that had nagged him for nearly a year. “You got the invitation?”

Percy nodded.

“In time to come?”

“I did. I wanted to come. It meant a lot to me that you asked, after … everything. But I— well, I didn’t know how everyone else would feel about it, and I didn’t want to ruin your wedding by causing a scene. And….”

“You were being watched,” Bill said quietly.

Percy gave a curt nod.

The two men sat in silence for several minutes, listening to the rush of the sea as the tide came in.

“What happened at the Battle?” Bill said.

“What do you mean?”

“George seems to think Fred’s death was your fault, and I think you do too.”

Percy turned away, looking out to sea, and in the darkness of the night even his profile was blurred. “It was my fault.”

“What happened?”

“We were dueling, and I made him laugh.”

“You did?” Bill heard the shock in his voice and backpedaled. “I mean, it’s usually the other way around.”

“Fred was surprised too. He was laughing, and then—“

Bill took a deep breath. Everyone said it would get easier, but right now, thinking of Fred’s death was like swallowing crushed glass. Everything to do with it, every single inch of it, was painful.

“He got hit while he was distracted?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“But you were there….“

“I don’t know what happened. One minute, Fred and I are laughing, Thickness and the other guy are on the ground at our feet, and the next…. The hallway just exploded, and—“ Percy choked up. “I tried to get to him, I tried to help him, but it happened so fast, and … I’m sorry, Bill, I’m so sorry!”

Bill laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder and waited for him to remove his glasses and wipe his eyes.

“It was an explosion, Perce. There’s nothing you could have done. It could have been any of you.” _Or all of you_. Bill shuddered at the thought. Three brothers, dead in one blow….

“Yes, but it should have been me. It should have been _me_. Fred fought for the Order, he supported Harry the whole time, _he_ didn’t turn his back on his family. It should have been me who died that night. George knows it, and I know it, and you do too.”

“I know no such thing,” Bill said firmly, tightening his grip on Percy’s shoulder and forcing him to face him. “I’m sorry Fred is dead, and I’m glad you’re alive, and I’m even more glad that you came back. And none of those things has anything to do with the others.”

“But if I hadn’t come back, Fred would still be alive. He wouldn’t have been dueling with me, he would have been with George, and—“

It happened in an instant: the pain of grief shifted to a wave of anger, and Bill dropped his hand. “Shut up. Just shut up, Percy. You have no idea how close all of us came to death over the last three years, and more than once. It could have been any of us, but it wasn’t. It was Fred, and blaming yourself doesn’t make it any better. It makes me want to punch you, to be honest.”

“He was the first one to forgive me,” Percy said thickly, looking Bill full in the face for the first time since they came outside. “Even before Mum, Fred was the first, and he was my little brother, and now he’s d-dead.“

“Shit, Perce,” Bill said, because he didn’t know what else to say. The anger drained away, leaving a hollow despair in its wake. He put one hand behind Percy’s neck. “I forgive you too, okay? I don’t think it was your fault, and I sure as hell don’t wish you were dead.”

“I failed Ginny and I failed Fred. I told you I was going to be a better brother, but I walked away….“

Bill said nothing for a few moments, remembering that conversation in his flat in Egypt five years ago, only two months after Ginny was taken into the Chamber of Secrets.

“I was pretty pissed off about that. And that first Christmas, when you sent Mum’s jumper back. She cried.”

Percy winced. “Merlin, I was an arrogant arse. So.” He cleared his throat, and Bill knew the topic was closed. “Are you going to keep the desk job, or are you going to try for a curse breaker position in Britain?”

()()()()

“How did it go?”

Bill turned, but Fleur’s form in the bed didn’t move.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said.

“I was waiting for you.”

He sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. He felt Fleur move behind him, and then her chin on his shoulder.

“He thinks it’s his fault Fred is dead.”

“I thought so.”

“You did?” He felt her nod.

“That Fred should die the night Percy came back, that your family should be whole for such a short time, it is not right.”

Bill turned, dislodging his wife. “You don’t think it’s his fault, do you?”

“It is no one’s fault, Bill. It is a tragedy.”

He sighed again. “I miss him. He would have found some way— inappropriate as it would have been, he would have found some way to make us smile, and without him, George is lost.”

“I have not heard your family talk about him. You even avoid saying his name because you fear it will make the others sad. You should remember him, remember his laughter. That is how he can make you smile.”

Bill nodded, unable to speak.

“Come to bed, Bill,” Fleur whispered, sliding her arms around him. “Come to bed, and it will be a little better in the morning.”

Godric, he hoped so; but he was afraid to ask how many mornings it would take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The character Harry names his mouse after is, of course, _Stuart Little_ by E. B. White.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The definition of _firsthand knowledge_ is from US Legal ... and I confess I didn't even try to Brit-pick the legal stuff.

Charlie had never known the Burrow to be so quiet—it was eerie. Bill no longer lived here. Dad, Percy, and George were at work during the day, and Ron and Hermione had left last weekend. Mum still spent almost all her time in bed; the kitchen looked positively alien without her.

Charlie tried to visit with her every day (he tried to spend a little time with each of his family members every day), but it was draining. She did not want to eat, she did not want to nag him about his hair or his new scars or his diet at the Reserve, and she did not want to talk about moving on. It was hard to see her like that. Quiet, and small, and fragile. His mum was the strongest witch he knew; hadn’t she proven that at the Battle?

He envied his dad and his brothers. They all had somewhere to go, something to do, while he was left behind to brood. He could go back to Romania; he would have to go back soon, but he was needed here. Other than the Quidditch World Cup four years ago, he hadn’t been home for more than a couple of days at a time since he first left.

Charlie reckoned he could go to Hogwarts again, help with rebuilding the castle, but he wanted to be home. Nearby, in case he was needed. For what, he didn’t know, but it seemed, with Dad and Bill gone, that he should stick around. Look after Mum and Ginny and just generally keep an eye on things. There was always something to repair around the Burrow, and there was still damage from when the Death Eaters ransacked the house in April. If he couldn’t work with his dragons, he could at least make himself useful.

()()()()

Ginny was eating dinner with Harry and her family when a group of owls sailed one after another through the open window and jostled for position amongst the food and plates on the scrubbed wood table.

“What on earth….”

“They’re from the Ministry, Daddy,” Ginny said, removing the letter closest to her.

He sighed. “They’ll be the invitations to testify, I expect.”

There was some shifting and passing of scrolls until everyone had their own. Dad set Mum’s aside.

“Against the Death Eaters?” Harry said, ripping his open.

Ginny slipped her fingernail under the seal and unrolled a short piece of parchment wrapped around a longer scroll. Her full name and address were printed at the top.

_Dear Miss Weasley,_

_The Wizengamot has reason to believe you may have information regarding the actions of various suspects charged with crimes during the recent war with Lord Voldemort. Enclosed is a list of all defendants and the charges against them. With wand in hand, please initial beside the name of each witch or wizard for whom you have firsthand knowledge of a crime. If you have knowledge of a crime for which the person is not charged, or if you have knowledge of a crime committed by a person not listed, write in the charge beside the defendant’s name or write the name of the accused and his crime(s) at the bottom of the list. Be advised, firsthand knowledge is defined as “something the witness saw or heard through direct observation or experience” and excludes assumptions, belief, and hearsay. You are hereby reminded that making false or frivolous accusations to any member of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad is itself a crime punishable by up to three months in Azkaban under the Statue for Lawful Witness Testimony, article one, section three, paragraph (b)._

_The signing of the enclosed document with your wand in hand creates a legal affidavit between yourself and the Wizengamot Council of Magical Law. Once the Wizengamot has received your affidavit, your name will be given to the counselors for prosecution and defense of each defendant you indicated. You will then be contacted by a member of the Wizengamot Administration Services, who will request your presence in the offices of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. At that time, you will be interviewed by counsel and the relevance of your testimony determined. If your presence is required at trial, you will be notified in due course by either the prosecution or defense, for whom on behalf you are testifying, of the date and time of your appearance. If your presence in court is determined necessary by counsel, the signing of the enclosed document with wand in hand makes said presence mandatory. Trials are scheduled to commence on 1 June 1998._

_If you do not have firsthand knowledge of the crimes listed, nor firsthand knowledge of any war crime committed by any other witch or wizard, sign the back of the enclosed document with wand in hand under the statement that begins “I hereby do swear I have no knowledge” and return it to the offices of the Wizengamot Administration Services posthaste._

_Sincerely,_

_Roger Davies, Junior Assistant_

_Wizengamot Administration Services_

_Ministry for Magic_

_enc_

“What?” Ginny said blankly.

“There are too many defendants and too many witnesses to process in the usual way,” Percy said, skimming the longer scroll. “They’re sending letters to everyone and asking them to verify whether they have direct knowledge of any war crimes.”

“Everyone?” Ginny said.

“Apparently,” Charlie said, holding up his letter.

“They used Voldemort’s name,” Harry said. “That’s new.”

“That will be Kingsley’s doing,” Dad said. Like Percy, he was reviewing the list of names.

“They missed a few, Dad,” Percy said.

“That they did.”

“What if we don’t want to testify?” Ginny said. She found the letter and its convoluted wording intimidating.

“Then don’t sign the list,” Charlie said.

“They’re not allowing written statements?” No way was she doing anything that would let the Carrows, or the Malfoys, or Umbridge, go free.

“Oh, I’m sure they will, but if the lawyers decide they need your testimony, you’re required to testify. It’s at the end of the next to last paragraph, see?” Percy leaned over and pointed it out.

“Ron and Hermione won’t be back by the first of June,” Harry said.

“Kingsley will make an exception,” Dad said. “Hermione will understand the implications and send a note with her and Ron’s lists, I’m sure.”

Ginny stared at her scroll, looking small and insignificant beside the bowl of brussels sprout. The war was over, and now those who had perpetuated crimes against witches and wizards and Muggles alike were going to be brought to justice. She looked over at Harry, who had pulled out his wand and was already initialing names, and knew he would want to testify in as many cases as possible. She sighed.

This was going to take some time.

()()()()

Harry looked up from his plate the next morning when Charlie, who was facing the door, made an odd choking noise.

“Good morning, everyone,” Ginny said.

“That is my Weird Sisters t-shirt,” Charlie said. “My _favorite_ Weird Sisters t-shirt.”

“Is it really?” Ginny looked down at her front and shrugged. “I found it in the wardrobe a few days ago.”

“And what were you doing snooping in my room?” His ears were turning red.

“I wasn’t snooping. I brought you your clean laundry.”

“My Weird Sisters shirts are off-limits, Ginny. You know that.”

“That was ages ago,” she said, picking up her bowl and serving herself porridge from the pot on the stove. She must have gone upstairs to get dressed after she fixed breakfast. “Besides, I don’t have any Weird Sisters t-shirts.”

“You do too. Bill and I both brought you souvenirs from that tour.”

“Nine years ago, Charlie. I can’t wear the same shirts I wore nine years ago.”

Harry would think not, considering she would have been seven then. Ginny winked at him, not at all subtle about it.

“Take it off,” Charlie demanded.

“Oh, don’t be a baby,” Ginny said dismissively and, Harry thought, rather recklessly. Charlie had completely abandoned his breakfast, and the redness spread from his ears to his face. Was she trying to make him angry?

Charlie stood up. “That is my shirt, and I say take. It. Off.” Ginny reached for the hem, exposing a strip of freckled skin, and he shouted, “Not here! Go upstairs and change, brat.”

Ginny shrugged again, set her bowl down at the place setting next to Harry, and left the kitchen. Harry focused on buttering his toast evenly, feeling Charlie’s eyes boring into him.

“What? I didn’t have anything to do with her getting dressed this morning. Or any morning,” he added hastily.

“I should hope not,” Percy said. “Nobody has messed with Charlie’s Weird Sisters shirts since Mum accidentally shrunk one in the wash and he made the tub overflow every time she did laundry for a week.”

“That’s my shirt!” Charlie exclaimed, pointing at the door Ginny had disappeared through. “And she has no right to go pawing through my wardrobe!”

“We know, Charlie,” Percy said soothingly. “She’s taking it off right now. Sit down and finish your breakfast.”

Charlie dropped into his seat, muttering ominously and stabbing his sausage links. Harry was hoping Mr. Weasley would show up before Ginny came back (he didn’t think Charlie would try to kill his sister in front of their dad) when he heard the door squeak. Charlie’s eyes went perfectly round, and his mouth gaped open and closed soundlessly. Harry turned to see what had caused this reaction, inhaled in reflex, and felt an entire bite of toast drop straight down his windpipe.

Ginny had changed shirts, and this one was tight enough that it might have last fit when she was seven years old. Its bright strawberry color made her hair look dull, and in sparkling gold letters across the chest were printed the words, “Save a broom, ride a Seeker!” Harry sank down low in his chair and proceeded to wheeze as unobtrusively as possible.

“THAT’S MY QUIDDITCH SHIRT!”

Charlie had found his voice and looked as if he couldn’t decide if he were more angry about Ginny nicking yet another of his belongings or appalled at his baby sister proclaiming such a sentiment.

“Your Quidditch shirt that you left here ages ago,” she retorted. “Finders keepers, Charlie!”

Charlie was red all over; only the paleness of his burn scars stood out on his arms. “You SHRUNK my SHIRT!”

“It’s my shirt,” Ginny argued. “I found it, and I’m wearing it, and I’m keeping it!”

Percy leapt out of the way as Charlie charged around the table.

“You _are NOT_!”

Ginny was quick enough to get to the other end of the table, weaving in the opposite direction whenever Charlie made a move to either side. Harry thought she might have been able to stall long enough for reinforcements to arrive if she hadn’t stuck out her tongue. Charlie gave a roar and lunged. Eyes watering, Harry ducked completely under the table and consequently was in the perfect position to see Percy stick out a foot. Ginny did a nosedive, Charlie pounced, and Mrs. Weasley entered the kitchen just as he cried, “Gotcha!”

“What is going on in here?”

If he hadn’t been looking directly at Ginny, Harry would have missed it: an expression of triumph flashed across her face.

“She stole my shirt!” Charlie accused, holding Ginny’s arms behind her back with one meaty hand and pointing at her with the other. “Twice!”

Mrs. Weasley’s eyes dropped to her daughter’s chest and Harry’s followed them. He spit out the coughed-up toast before he choked on it again.

“Really, Mum, does this shirt look like it ever fit Charlie?”

“She SHRUNK it!” Charlie shouted, shaking his sister slightly. “That is a _Quidditch_ shirt, and she put a spell on it!”

“You said twice,” Mrs. Weasley said. “What was the other one?”

Harry came out from under the table on the other side, beside Percy, and heard him mutter, “Uh-oh.”

Charlie, however, seemed oblivious to any warning signs. “My Weird Sisters 1989 World Tour shirt!”

Mrs. Weasley’s face darkened. “Ginny stole one of your Weird Sisters shirts?”

“Yes!”

“Did she use magic on that one too?”

“No, Mum. That one fit fine.”

“Too bad,” Mrs. Weasley said, crossing her arms. “Let her go, Charlie. She’s barely half your size.”

He obeyed, and Ginny scurried behind her mother, smiling smugly. What little color had faded from Charlie’s face as his mother listened to his complaints returned in full force.

“Have you seen what that shirt says?” He pointed at Ginny, and Harry half expected to see sparks shoot from his fingertip.

“Yes, son, I can read.”

“Well, she can’t wear that shirt. That shirt is not for sisters!”

Mrs. Weasley raised one eyebrow, and finally, Charlie seemed to realize the precariousness of his situation. He dropped his hand, took a deep breath, and crossed his arms. Harry couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles bulged and resolved to avoid Charlie as long as Ginny was in that shirt. As a matter of fact, maybe they could avoid him together….

()()()()

Mum stood just inside the kitchen, looking uncharacteristically lost as the boys returned to their seats at the table.

“I’d love to have a fried egg, Mum, but I always overcook them. Would you show me how to do it again?” Ginny held her breath. Other than Fred’s funeral, the Order meeting, and tea with Mrs. Tonks, Mum hadn’t been out of her room in three weeks.

“Of course, Ginny.” Mum seemed to come to herself, pulling an apron from the drawer and crossing to the stove. “Fix one for me as well, would you?”

Ginny cracked two eggs into the skillet, listening carefully as her mum explained the process. She served them onto plates and set her mother’s beside hers, adding two slices of toast and pouring a cup of tea. Ginny kept up a steady stream of chatter throughout the meal as Percy finished and left for work and Dad came breezing through, fussing about being late.

“Here, Arthur, at least take a bacon sandwich with you.” Mum stood and added a few strips of bacon to the last slice of toast, folding it in half and handing it to Dad.

“Thanks, Molly. I love you.” Her parents kissed quickly, and Dad walked out to Disapparate.

It worked: Mum ate all her egg and toast except for the top crust, but she never ate the crusts. Ginny scraped the last of her porridge out of the bowl, and Mum took it from her hand.

“You and Harry run along, dear,” she said. “I’ll wash up.”

“Thanks, Mum.”

“And find something else to wear!”

Harry had sat silently beside Ginny while she ate, but now she took his hand and pulled him into the sitting room.

“You did that on purpose,” he accused.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It was a bad lie; she was too pleased with herself to pretend.

“You picked a fight with Charlie to draw your mum downstairs.”

“I did. And it worked!”

“Merlin, Ginny, I thought he was going to hex you, at the very least!”

“Of course not. I’m his baby sister.” She grinned.

“You’re incorrigible, is what you are,” Harry said with mock severity. “And where did you get that shirt?”

Even as he spoke, Harry’s eyes drifted to her chest.

“I wore it for you, Harry, don’t you like it?” she said, widening her eyes.

He jerked his eyes back to her face, stammering and looking round the room as if for an escape. Ginny laughed.

“Come on, let’s get out of here before Mum really remembers herself and puts us to work.”

()()()()

Ginny folded Hermione’s copy of _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass_ over her thigh to mark her place and gazed at Harry. He slept on the blanket beside her, round glasses askew and black hair tousled. He had been running himself ragged attending funerals for Hogwarts pupils over the last two weeks, and when she saw him at breakfast this morning, she had known he would need an extra nap. He usually napped in the afternoons, and she suspected sometimes he slept an hour or two in the evenings as well before they met for what had become a nightly fly.

Harry couldn’t seem to get enough sleep or food. It reminded Ginny of the first summer he had come to the Burrow, when Ron and Fred and George had literally broken him out of his aunt and uncle’s house and Harry stared at the amount of food Mum piled on his plate every meal as if it were galleons. It incensed Ginny to think about it; even as a child, she had been furious that anyone could treat another person so harshly. She hadn’t always had a lot, but she had always had love. She knew Harry loved the Burrow not for its luxuries, but for its atmosphere.

She set the book aside and shifted positions to lie beside him. She longed to touch him, but Harry was a very light sleeper. She had made the mistake of trying to remove his glasses one afternoon the first week they were home and found her wrist in a numbing grip and Harry too tense to go back to sleep for almost an hour afterwards.

Ever since that night in the orchard a week ago, when they had neither flown nor talked but simply kissed, she had been thinking of how to make this summer easier. They had a little over three months together before she would go back to Hogwarts and Harry would start Auror training. Three months to solidify their connection, to strengthen the bond between them so they could not only survive a long-distance relationship, but continue to grow closer together. Ginny knew they were not likely to ever have another period of time like this summer, where neither of them had daily commitments or responsibilities, and she wanted to make the most of it.

But Harry was reluctant. She could feel it in his touch, in the way he was careful not to do more than kiss her even though he had dared a bit more last spring. She sensed it in his speech, that he was telling her the simplest things, the most factual things, about the hunt for Voldemort. She knew Harry had never had a girlfriend before her, and she knew because of his relatives (Ginny refused to call them family) he didn’t think he was worthy of love and didn’t know how to accept it. For all his bravery and heroism, Ginny understood that she held a lot of power in this relationship, and she wanted to balance that out. She wanted to teach Harry that she needed and wanted him as much as he did her, and she needed a way to show him that without scaring the crap out of him by talking about feelings. She needed to show Harry that it was safe to be vulnerable with her, and she wanted some way, some incentive, for him to risk advancing their physical relationship. And she had this idea….


	18. Chapter Seventeen

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

He and Ginny lay side by side in the middle of the Weasleys’ Quidditch pitch, ostensibly star-gazing but mostly just enjoying each other’s company. They had flown (a little), and kissed (a little more), and now Harry was trying to think of something to tell her. Ever since he had kissed her in the kitchen last week, they hadn’t talked much during these nightly visits (at least not about Voldemort), but Harry knew Ginny was not going to let him off the hook forever.

“I want to talk to you about something,” she said.

See?

“It’s about us.”

“Wh— what about us?” Harry said, feeling slightly itchy inside his stomach.

Ginny squeezed his hand. “I’ve been thinking about this summer, how we have this chance to spend a lot of time with each other and how that probably won’t happen again. I’m going back to Hogwarts, and you’re going to start Auror training, and then we’ll both be working, and…. I don’t want to squander this time, Harry.”

He frowned as the itching got worse. “You think this is squandering?”

“No! Well, not exactly.”

“What then?” Harry loved these nights with her, the freedom of flying, of doing whatever they wanted, of answering to no one about nothing.

“Look, I know you’re hesitant to share some things with me, and I understand that, I really do. But I also know it’s important if we’re going to move forward as a couple, especially since after September we’ll be writing to each other for almost a year, and we won’t have the chance to talk. So, I thought maybe we could make it into a game.”

“A game,” Harry said flatly. He couldn’t believe Ginny— the girl who had been possessed by Voldemort— was suggesting treating anything to do with him like a game.

She nodded. “You do something for me, like tell me about hunting Voldemort, and I do something for you.”

“Like what?” 

“Well, I thought— I thought, maybe … if you wanted … you could—“ She swallowed. “You could count my freckles. And kiss them, if you like.”

“Ginny, I’ve already counted, and kissed, your freckles.” Not that he was any good at it— the counting part, that is. He always lost track of the numbers.

“Not all of them.”

Harry froze. Was she— surely she wasn’t suggesting … was she? He sat up to get a better view of her face. It was too dark out here to tell its color, but it was definitely darker than the rest of her skin. Ginny was blushing, which meant—

“All of them?” His voice cracked.

“Well, not all at once.” She sat up too and pulled her plait over one shoulder, toying with the ends. “I’ll pick a scar for you to tell me about, and you can pick a part for freckles.” 

Harry considered this. “What happens when I run out of scars?” Because he knew she was not going to run out of freckles.

Ginny shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. “We start over? Like with stories about our childhood or something?”

“Okay.”

She looked at him now. “Yeah?”

He nodded.

She heaved a sigh of relief. “I was afraid you would think it was stupid, or you wouldn’t want to count my freckles. I mean, I know you liked counting them last year, at least I think you did, but maybe that was just because, I don’t know, you didn’t have anything better to do, and—“

He kissed her. Some of Ron’s first words to Harry about his sister had been “she never shuts up normally,” and while Harry generally found that to be true, he also found he was quite good at shutting Ginny up.

()()()()

Charlie sat in his old bedroom reading the latest issue of _Quidditch Weekly_ (which had not one word about war, Voldemort, battles, or Death Eaters) and waiting for the explosion. Ginny had deliberately wound him up yesterday, and after considerable thought, Charlie decided messing with her Gwenog Jones poster was a punishment that fit the crime: it was Quidditch-related, it was one of her most prized possessions, and it was easy to access. 

There were the footsteps on the stairs he had been listening for, Harry’s and Ginny’s quiet voices, and then more footsteps as Harry continued on to Ron’s room. Charlie listened for Ginny’s bedroom door to close, opened his with his wand, and looked across the dark landing. If she didn’t turn on the light, there would be no point—

Ginny shrieked, a loud, high-pitched, distinctly feminine sound of distress that resulted in a series of thumps, slammed doors, and exclamations. Charlie did not bother joining the rescue attempt, as Ginny would know exactly who—

“Charlie Weasley, what have you done with my Gwenog Jones poster!”

And there she was, arms akimbo, face already bright red, standing in his open doorway before anyone arrived from the other floors. Harry was first, eyes bright and wand out, pushing Ginny behind his back as he swept the landing and Charlie’s room for threats. Ginny did not take kindly to Harry’s protection and shoved back.

“Ginny!” Dad arrived, looking worried. “What’s wrong?”

Ginny struck her innocent-victim pose at once, accusing finger pointed and pouty face upturned. “Charlie stole my Gwenog Jones poster!”

Dad gaped, and Charlie felt the first stirrings of victory. 

“In the middle of the night? Really, Ginny, you woke the whole house up for this?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy, I just noticed it. I woke up to go to the bathroom—“

George and Percy, crowding the landing behind Dad, both snorted in disbelief. Harry backed into a corner. Ginny didn’t flinch.

“—And when I got back, it was gone!”

“Arthur? What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing, Molly, go back to bed,” Dad called up the stairs. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Charlie?” Dad’s voice was weary and impatient.

“I didn’t steal it,” he said truthfully.

“Well, you did something to it, because it’s not there!”

“Why would Charlie have a reason to hex your Quidditch poster?”

Now they were arriving at the heart of the problem. Charlie crossed his arms and raised one eyebrow, daring her to tell the truth.

Ginny copied his posture and threw in a glare for good measure. “Probably because I said Gwenog Jones was going to play for the Cup this year, but Charlie thinks a girl can’t play for England.”

Damn, she was good; they had fought about that very thing four years ago, before the last Quidditch World Cup. Judging from the look Dad was giving him over his spectacles, he remembered too.

“We’ll discuss this tomorrow,” Dad said. “Back to bed, all of you. All of you,” he said firmly, guiding Ginny across her threshold and closing the door behind her.

No sooner had his dad and brothers disappeared upstairs than Ginny’s door opened, and long red hair swung into sight.

“Just you wait, Charlie Weasley,” she hissed.

Charlie said nothing, just walked his wand between his fingers, smiling when his underage sister slammed her door shut and earned herself a reproving “Ginny Weasley!” from three floors above.

()()()()

Harry slunk into the kitchen and dropped into a chair just as George stepped out of the Floo.

“What’s wrong with you?” George said, hanging up his magenta robes on the rack by the back door. Next to it sat a weathered, olive-green duffle bag. George had not often been at the Burrow since he went back to work, but tonight was Charlie’s last night home.

“Nothing,” Harry said. 

“Where’s Fleur?” George asked.

“Upstairs with Mum,” Bill said.

All Ginny’s brothers were present, reading various sections of the _Daily Prophet_. It was Sunday evening, two weeks after Ron and Hermione left, and Ginny had holed herself up in her room and refused to talk to Harry.

“What did you do to make Ginny mad?” Charlie said, idly turning a page.

“Nothing!”

“What happened?” George said.

“Nothing happened. I just woke up and went to see her, and she told me to go away.” Harry was no longer sleeping through breakfast, but he still couldn’t make it to dinner without a kip. 

Percy put down the business section. “Harry, what’s the longest time you’ve spent with Ginny?”

Harry stared at him. “I’ve known her since I was twelve.”

“You misunderstand me. What’s the longest period— of time,” he added when Charlie and George sniggered behind their newspapers, “that you’ve ever been together with her?”

Harry did not find this question any clearer. “Well, that would be the school year, wouldn’t it?”

“And I thought Ron was thick,” Bill muttered.

Harry didn’t understand. What did they know that he didn’t?

“You’ve been with Ginny every day for a month,” Percy said slowly. “Perhaps she’s just not … feeling her best today.”

“Why would being with Ginny every day make her not feel well?”

“For the love of magic,” Charlie said impatiently, tossing the Quidditch section on the table. “She’s on her period, Harry.”

Oh. _Ohhh_. So, she wasn’t miffed that he had mentioned missing Hermione. And that explained why she had looked close to tears when there were no more Chocolate Frogs in the tin when they came back from flying last night. But…. “Well, now what?”

“Stay the hell away,” George advised, picking up the discarded Quidditch section.

Percy shot him a dark look. “He can hardly do that every month.”

“What did you do with Hermione?” Bill said.

Harry’s brain came to a screeching halt. “I don’t— Hermione didn’t— she’s not—“

“Not a girl, right. Maybe George has the right idea, at least for today.”

“But….“ Harry didn’t remember, exactly (he’d tuned Madame Pomfrey out that day, being more interested in examining the book’s pictures with Ron), but he had a vague recollection that a girl’s period went on for more than one day.

“You could offer to brush her hair,” Percy suggested. 

Harry stared incredulously at him, and Charlie muttered something about “girl brother.”

“It’s hard to yell at someone when they’re behind you,” Percy said.

Harry didn’t want to be yelled at, or even necessarily talked to. He just wanted to be with Ginny, be in her presence like they had been— well, every day for the last month. Surely he could think of something she wanted to do.

But Ginny did not want to go to the pond, or lie in the sunshine, or play chess. She did not want to come downstairs for dinner, or take tea in her room, or even go for a fly. What she did want, as she told Harry loudly and explicitly, was to be left alone. So, Harry returned to the kitchen, where the Weasleys were gathering the week’s leftovers into a makeshift meal, and resigned himself to staying away from his girlfriend.

“I told you, you should have offered to plait her hair. She finds it relaxing.” Percy set a chicken leg, a serving of steak and kidney pie, and a spoonful of strawberries in front of Harry.

“I don’t know how,” Harry said moodily before biting into a berry, its bright red color reminding him of Ginny’s hair. And that suggestive t-shirt….

“Don’t take it personally, Harry,” George said, frowning at the glass of milk Bill handed him. “She’s always like this. She’ll come out when she feels better. You can take her some chocolate later.”

“I don’t have any chocolate.”

“Look in the box under Ron’s bed. He usually keeps a few Chocolate Frogs in there.”

Harry brightened. That was true, Ron did. Harry finished his dinner, helped Bill wash up, and played chess with Charlie, who won easily (Harry was still thinking about chocolate frogs and ginger plaits). He finally decided enough time had passed that Ginny could not accuse him of nagging her, especially not if he brought her a gift. 

“Remember, left over right, right over left,” Percy said as Harry left the sitting room.

Whatever that meant.

For the third time that evening, a defeated Harry returned downstairs. 

“She wants you,” he said to Percy, and dropped into the vacated seat. He was having a hard time not taking this personally.

()()()()

The lock on Ginny’s door clicked, and she opened her eyes. Percy stood just inside her room.

“Don’t lecture me, Percy. I feel dreadful already.”

“So does Harry. He was just trying to make you feel better.”

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you let him?”

She shrugged. 

“Were you embarrassed?”

She shrugged again, just one shoulder this time. 

“You’re going to have to get over that if you’re planning what I think you’re planning.”

Ginny felt her face heat and turned further into the pillow in an effort to hide it. 

“Come on, sit up,” Percy said, picking up her brush and pulling the chair from her desk over in front of the bed. 

Ginny felt his hand on her back as he started at the ends. Percy was the only one who listened about how not to pull.

“Why are you embarrassed about something personal with Harry?” 

“I wasn’t really. I just thought he might be.”

“I think he would have preferred a little private embarrassment to being publicly rejected.”

To her horror, Ginny felt her eyes well with tears. “Is he really mad at me?”

“No, I think he’s more hurt and confused.”

She pulled her knees up and leaned her forehead against them as a wave of nausea passed over her.

“You haven’t been out of bed at all, have you?” 

Ginny shook her head automatically, stopping when she felt the pull of her hair in the brush. “No.”

Percy paused and leaned around her to see her face. “You’re quite peaky. Are you sick? Should I get Mum?”

“I’ll be all right. It’s just—“

“What? Is something wrong? Do you need some potion? Where do you keep it? When did you last take a dose?”

“Calm down, Percy, I’m not dying,” Ginny said, going from tearful to irritated in a heartbeat, which irritated her further. “I just haven’t— it’s been a few months, so it’s worse than usual.”

Percy’s eyes dropped to her stomach.

“I’m not pregnant!”

“Of course you’re not,” he said, hurriedly resuming his place behind her. He worked his way across her hair and up to the next section before he spoke again. “But have you taken any potion?”

“I took some when I woke up during the night.”

“Merlin, Ginny, no wonder you feel like crap. Where do you keep it?”

“In my top desk drawer.” She eyed her brother suspiciously as he conjured a glass and poured her the correct dose. “When did you become the period expert?” She swallowed it in one gulp and handed the glass back, grimacing.

“You’re not the only witch I know.”

Under better circumstances, Ginny would have jumped on that comment. She closed her eyes again, putting one hand down to steady herself on the bed as the nausea intensified when the potion hit her stomach.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to get Mum?”

Ginny felt a wave of homesickness— how stupid, she was home!— at the thought of her mother. She shook her head. “She’s probably napping.” Mum was acting more like herself since Ginny and Charlie’s fight, but she still seemed drawn and tired, especially later in the day.

“Here.” 

Percy handed her a throw pillow, and as Ginny took it, she realized he had cast a warming charm on it. She pressed it to her lower abdomen, drew her knees up to hold it in place, and sighed in relief.

“Better?”

“Much. Where have you been all my life?”

She held her breath. She had meant it as a joke, to ease his mind, but…. 

Percy resumed brushing her hair. “I’m sorry I missed your birthdays.”

Ginny swallowed. “I waited for you,” she said. “On my fourteenth. I knew you were mad at Dad, but I thought for sure you would come back for my birthday dinner. You didn’t even send me a card.”

That had been awful, as night fell and no owl appeared at Grimmauld Place, realizing that Percy had written her off too. What had been righteous indignation on behalf of her father had turned into a very personal hurt, and Ginny took that pain and transformed it into anger, anger that propelled her to throw parsnips when she next saw Percy again.

“I know. I’m sorry, Gin-Gin.”

“I’m not a baby anymore, Percy.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Ginevra.”

Ginny turned around, ready to blast him with her sharp tongue, but Percy’s eyes twinkled behind his glasses. 

“Well, I’m not sorry for throwing parsnips at you,” she said, facing forward again so Percy could continue with her hair. He had reached her crown now, her favorite part as the brush slid smoothly and painlessly from root to tip. 

“Do you want a regular braid or a French braid?”

“Actually … would you ask Harry to come up here?”

()()()()

Bill scowled at Harry’s back as he left the sitting room for Ginny’s bedroom.

“My _maman_ would tell you to be careful. Your face might get stuck like that,” Fleur said, amused.

“What?”

“It is no good looking like that. Ginny and Harry are more than a—how do you say? A crush. I have been telling you this for years.”

Bill’s frown deepened. Fleur marked her page and set down her book. 

“Why does it bother you so?”

Wasn’t it obvious? “She’s my little sister!”

“She is sixteen, nearly seventeen. That is not too young for a boyfriend.”

“It’s too young to be so—“ He waved his hand in the direction of the staircase. “So _together_.”

“You would prefer her to be seeing several boys?”

“What? No!“ 

Across the room, Charlie looked up from the chessboard that separated him and Percy. Bill silenced him with a look. 

“Perhaps you prefer the Ginny from last summer and Christmas, the quiet one who kept to herself so no one would notice her sadness.”

“No, I—“

“Or the Ginny from the Battle,” Fleur continued. “Panicked, desperate, and tearful.”

“Of course not. It’s just—“

Fleur raised one pale eyebrow.

He glanced towards the staircase again. There was no good reason for Harry to be in Ginny’s bedroom. None. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I have a little sister too.”

“But you’re not her brother. It’s different.”

“Mmm.” Fleur settled back against the arm of the sofa and crossed her feet in his lap. “You do not think Harry cares for her?”

“He’s dangerous.” Okay, maybe not so much now, with Voldemort dead and the Order disbanded, but an Auror?

“My _papa_ said much the same about you. I did not care—no, that is not exactly true. It is part of what made me fall in love with you, your adventure and your bravery.”

Bill turned his scowl on his wife. “You’re not helping.”

“Neither are you.”

Before he could protest, she went on. “You are happy for Ron and Hermione, no? Why can you not be happy for Ginny and Harry?”

Fleur’s voice was casual, even innocent, but Bill had been a curse breaker for years. He knew how to spot a trap. She was waiting for him to say something sexist. And maybe he was, but … it just didn’t feel right. Ron had said Bill would understand if he saw Ginny and Harry together, but he hadn’t seen much of them in the last three weeks. They were always sneaking off somewhere, “flying.” 

Bill met his wife’s gaze and tried to think of a way to explain that she would understand.

“Hermione is two years older than Ginny—her birthday is in September,” he added when Fleur’s brow furrowed. “And Harry and Ginny haven’t been friends for years like Ron and Hermione have. They don’t really know each other.”

Fleur laughed outright. “They have known each other twice as long as you and I, and we have been married for nearly a year already.”

Bill blew out a breath. “Would you stop being so damned reasonable?”

“Not until you admit why you’re being so unreasonable.”

He shot a quick look at his brothers, who were at least pretending to be engrossed in their game. “What if he hurts her?” 

“Then she will make him pay,” Fleur said promptly.

Bill stared at her. 

“Ginny is not the type of girl to hide in a corner. She will have her revenge, and it will be memorable.”

Fleur swung her feet to the floor and sat up in one graceful motion. “You cannot protect her forever, Bill. Harry will hurt her and she him. We have done so with each other, but we have made up, no?” She laid her hand on his leg. “It is the very nature of romance. You cannot be so close to another person and not hurt them at some point, however unintentionally.”

“But she—she’s just so young,” Bill said helplessly.

“But she is not the child you left behind for Egypt. She is not young in experience.” Fleur looked straight into his eyes. “She is not too young to love.”

He thought of Harry and Ginny upstairs, of Charlie leaving tonight, of his mother’s despondency and her resulting failure to monitor every detail about her children. He thought of how many things could go wrong.

“But—“ 

“You are always watching Harry whenever they are together, worried he will do something improper, but you should watch your sister, Bill. Watch Ginny when she is with Harry. See how happy she is, how peaceful, and then tell me you want to take that away from her.”

He studied her face, the earnest expression, the softness in her eyes. “You really think they are good together?”

“I am as certain of them as I am of you,” Fleur said simply. 

Well, he couldn’t argue with that.

()()()()

“I should go,” Charlie said as he tipped his king over in defeat.

Bill looked up from the chessboard, then at his watch and sighed. “I reckon so.”

“I’ll say goodbye to Mum and Ginny and be back downstairs in a minute.”

Charlie took the stairs two at a time, pausing on the first landing. It had been a while since Percy said Ginny wanted to see Harry, and her door was open.

They were asleep on her bed. Harry’s body curved around hers from behind, one hand resting low on her belly but on top of her shorts. Charlie smiled at the sloppy plait that trailed over her shoulder. Hermione’s orange cat had left his mistress’s empty bed and curled up at their feet. They looked peaceful, but he knew it was short-lived. 

All four of them had nightmares—Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione. Ginny had had them off and on ever since first year, and Merlin knew Harry’s life had been the stuff of nightmares, but what about Ron and Hermione? Charlie remembered the night he’d gone up to Ron’s room and found himself on the floor with a wand in his face. Charlie’s experience of the war had been different. Detached. Isolated. He hated to admit it, but he would be relieved to be back on the Reserve tomorrow. No grief, no death, no mothers to tiptoe around or brothers to reconcile or sisters to console. No obituaries to read, no funerals to attend, no orphaned babies to hold. Just the mountains, and the forest, and his beautiful dragons….

Ginny snuffled in her sleep and he turned away.

“Come in,” Dad said when Charlie knocked.

“I just came up to say goodbye.”

Dad set down his papers and crossed the room. “Goodbye, son. Take care of yourself.”

Charlie returned the embrace. “I will. Mum?”

She sat in bed with a photo album across her lap. Charlie pushed back the memories of his previous departures. He was a grown man; he didn’t need his mother fussing over him and tucking food packages in his rucksack and supervising his use of the Floo.

“I love you,” he said as he bent to hug her.

“I love you too, Charlie.” She kissed his cheek and held on longer than usual, and he pretended not to notice the tears.

But he was going to miss having her biscuits for breakfast tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ron's description of Ginny in the first scene is a quote from: Rowling, J. K. _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_. Bloomsbury: London, 1998. p. 35.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Ginny set down her book as she felt Harry stir. It was late afternoon. They had come out to the willow tree after lunch, and Harry had fallen asleep in her lap. 

“You were tired,” she said. ”Nightmares again?”

He shrugged.

She took that as a yes. “Me too. I keep seeing Tom morph into Voldemort and your fight in the Great Hall. But it’s … it’s more like … like the fighting at the Department of Mysteries. Fast and confusing and scary, all over the castle, and Ron and Hermione and I are trying to catch up to you, to help, but the two of you keep disappearing, and every time, I think you’re….”

Dead. In her dream, whenever Harry disappeared, she was on the castle’s front steps again, Harry’s dead body limp in Hagrid’s arms.

Harry reached up and took her hand. “I dream about the fight in the Great Hall too,” he said, his voice husky. “Only Bellatrix … that one spell….”

The one she had just barely ducked. The one that had prompted her mum to take over the fight.

Ginny brushed Harry’s hair away from his face, and he closed his eyes at her touch. 

“Mum has some Dreamless Sleep potion. The Healers gave us a whole bottle when … after…. “ She swallowed. “After the Battle.”

Harry sat up, placing one hand beside her opposite hip so he was leaning across her. His glasses were still off to the side where he had laid them before falling asleep, and he brought his face close to hers in order to see her clearly. Ginny stared into bright green eyes, her heart thumping in her ears.

“You’re better than Dreamless Sleep potion.”

She smiled. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.” He kissed her without breaking eye contact. “Better taste … better dreams … no groggy feeling afterwards….”

Ginny hooked her arms behind his neck and fell backwards, pulling Harry with her. 

Better dreams, indeed.

()()()()

Ginny and Harry heard the laughter coming from the Burrow’s kitchen even before they opened the back door.

“What’s going on?” Ginny said.

“It’s a letter from Ron and Hermione,” Mum said, holding up the parchment. Perched on the back of the empty chair beside her was a plump, plainly-colored bird with a narrow beak, and it was— _laughing_?

“What is that?” Harry said, eyeing the bird warily. Even Errol had taken notice, sitting tall on his perch with feathers ruffled.

“It’s a kookaburra,” Dad said eagerly. “Hermione says there’s a Muggle children’s song about them. Do you know it, Harry? Show them, Molly.”

Mum passed Ginny the letter, and she held it where Harry could read over her shoulder. Ginny recognized her brother’s cramped print.

_Dear Mum, Dad, Harry, and Ginny,_

_We found them! Hermione’s parents were listed in the dental registry, just like she thought. Their practice is in one of the Sydney suburbs, so we took the train up and are staying at a Muggle hotel. Harry will know how to send post or call if you need us—both rooms are in Hermione’s name, and she wrote the address below. We haven’t actually seen her parents yet, and I can’t tell if Hermione is more scared or excited. Quite a bit of both, I think. Blimey, I hope this goes all right._

_Hermione says I’m to tell you that the post-bird is a kookaburra, a type of kingfisher native to Australia and there’s a Muggle children’s song about them. She sang it for me when we were in the owl office, and now I can’t get it out of my head. I wanted to use one of the parrots, but they were too small for international deliveries._

_Anyway, we’re safe and fine and everything, and I’ll write later to let you know how it goes._

_Love,  
Ron and Hermione_

Ginny smiled at the sight of their names together. Harry caught her eye.

“Both rooms?” he mouthed, and she grinned.

“Well, it’s about time,” Ginny said. “We haven’t heard anything from them since the postcard saying they’d arrived, and they sent that from the Australian Ministry for Magic.”

“I know,” Harry agreed, accepting a fistful of cutlery from Percy and helping to set the table. “I was getting worried.”

“Well, it’s nice to have an address, at least,” Mum said, tucking the letter back in its envelope. “But what are we supposed to do with the bird? The poor thing can’t fly back tonight.”

“I’ll take it outside with the chickens,” Ginny said. “Do kookaburras eat chicken feed?” She looked to Percy.

“Judging from its reaction to owl nuts, I’d say its carnivorous,” Percy said. He straightened the forks and knives Harry had just lain down. They looked fine to Ginny. 

“Well, it can find some mice or something, and share the chickens’ water, and fly off when its ready,” she said, holding out her arm for the bird. It tilted its head and looked at her, and Ginny laughed. The kookaburra copied her before stepping onto her forearm. She stroked its back gently as her parents returned to preparing the meal.

Ginny circled the table and flicked a knife wildly out of place. Percy looked up with a glare.

“He didn’t mean to exclude you, Perce,” she said quietly. “He just didn’t expect you to still be here. He didn’t write to Charlie, either, now did he?”

Percy moved the knife back to its proper position and busied himself lining up the plate and glass.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Ginny repeated firmly, and carried the bird outside.

()()()()

“What is it?” Bill answered the knock on his open office door without looking up.

“I’m sorry. I can come back later if you’re busy….”

“Percy!” He set down the report he was reading. “Come in. What are you doing here?”

Percy sat on the only other chair in the small office and surveyed the papers scattered across Bill’s desk with interest. “I came to see you.”

“Yes, I gathered that,” Bill said dryly. 

“What are you working on?”

“Muggle homes attacked by Death Eaters. The Grangers’ house is at the top of the list. The Ministry thinks they may have been cursed. Shouldn’t be anything too complicated, but it will get me out of this place for a few days.” 

“That will be nice.”

“Definitely. What’s the occasion?” Not that he minded the interruption, but Percy had interrupted his own job too, and that was virtually unheard of.

“I wouldn’t have bothered you at work, but I did try to Floo-call. Where were you last night?”

“Home.”

A small crease appeared between Percy’s eyebrows. “Then why didn’t you come to the fireplace?”

“I don’t know, Perce, what could I possibly have been doing at home that would make it inconvenient to answer the Floo?”

“Ah, right. Well, er—sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Have you seen this?” He pulled a clipping from his pocket and laid it in front of Bill.

_QUALIFIED WIZARDS NEEDED: Due to the shortened school year, O.W.L.- and N.E.W.T.-qualified wizards are needed to tutor fifth- and seventh-year pupils in all subjects in preparation for exams in August. Contact M. McGonagall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a.s.a.p._

“When was this published?” Bill asked.

“In yesterday’s _Prophet_. I thought, since we both achieved O.W.L.s in everything, we could apply together.”

“For _everything_? I haven’t done Astronomy in more than ten years! Even Arithmancy and Ancient Runes—I used them all the time when I was in Egypt, but—“

“So, we’ll have to do a little brushing up.” Percy shrugged. 

“Maybe for you, Mr. I-Just-Left-School. It’s one thing to know something for your job. It’s another thing to know it well enough to teach it to someone else, _and_ broadly enough for that person to pass exams.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to help?”

“Of course I want to help. It’s just—well, it’s a new idea, that’s all.” Bill stared at the advert, thinking of his O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. scores. “Fleur will want to help too.”

“Do you think—“

“She did her last year at Hogwarts, remember? Her final qualifications are British, not French. I don’t think McGonagall will care, anyway. She’s going to need loads of volunteers.”

“So, you’ll do it?”

Bill sighed. He would need to more than “brush up,” but it was a concrete way to help with the recovery, and there couldn’t be a lot of people who had passed all twelve classes. “You can tell McGonagall I’ll tutor anything at O.W.L. level, and she’ll have a record of my N.E.W.T.s. I’m certain Fleur will want to participate, but let me talk it over with her before you send the letter, okay?”

Percy stood and returned the clipping to his pocket. “As long as you don’t forget to Floo-call me tonight. It would be … inconvenient … to come back here tomorrow.”

Bill sent a ledger soaring at Percy’s head. “Get out of here, you prat.”

Percy caught it and grinned, tossing the ledger back on Bill’s desk before closing the door behind him.

()()()()

Bill stared up at the winged boars guarding Hogwarts’s gates and shivered; it was cooler up here. McGonagall had written back to Percy with instructions for them to meet her Friday after work, and he and Percy made plans to Apparate straight here instead of taking the time to meet in London first. Fleur had agreed to help, but not having the same affection for their old school as the brothers did, she demurred when invited to join them. Bill couldn’t see the castle from here, but the Quidditch stands remained burnt and crumbling.

Percy appeared with a faint _pop_. “Ready?” 

“Just waiting for you,” Bill said, and they walked through the gates together. 

Percy took in the ruins around the pitch too. “Let’s not tell Charlie,” he said.

“Agreed.”

The rest of the grounds weren’t half-bad, Bill thought as they continued up the drive. The indentations of the giants’ footsteps were still visible, but the Acromantula bodies were gone and the debris that had littered the lawns, the stray troll clubs and centaur arrows, had been cleared away. Even the scorch marks from misfired spells were disappearing as new grass grew in.

The front doors stood open to the weather, and as soon as they crossed the threshold, Bill realized why. The Entrance Hall stank—reeked might be a better word. Although it was obvious some cleaning had been done, the upper walls were still blackened by soot and dark spots remained on the flagstone floor and marble stairs. But the rubble had been removed and the four House hourglasses stood intact in their places ahead of them, stones of ruby, diamond, sapphire, and emerald stored in the upper bulbs and waiting for the start of a new school year. Bill glanced to his right, but the doors to the Great Hall were closed. Probably so as not to spoil anyone’s appetite with the smell.

He and Percy climbed the marble staircase, avoiding the bloodstains, and headed for McGonagall’s office on the first floor. There was a note stuck to the door.

_Bill and Percy, I have been detained. Please have a seat, and I will join you shortly. MM_

Bill and Percy looked at each other, then at the closed door.

“She used our names,” Percy said.

“She does once you’ve left school. She did it with all of us when we worked with her for the Order.”

“Does that mean you call her Minerva now?”

“What do you think?”

Percy stared at the closed door again. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“I know, but we can’t just stand here. She’ll accuse us of not knowing how to read.”

“Fine. You do it then.”

“Chicken,” Bill muttered, ignoring Percy’s elbow, and turned the knob.

The office was just as he remembered it: packed with books and grounded by a paper-strewn desk centered on a large rug. The Quidditch Cup held pride of place on top of the bookshelf behind her chair. A low fire had been banked in the fireplace, and Bill pointed his wand at it, increasing the flames to warm the room as he and Percy sat down in the straight-backed wooden chairs in front of her desk.

“Wonder how she knew Fleur wasn’t coming?” Percy said.

Bill didn’t answer. Hogwarts was one of the few things on which he and Fleur disagreed completely: she could not understand what there was to love about the place, and Bill could not imagine not feeling at home here.

The two men sat quietly for a few minutes, each lost in his own memories, when Bill’s stomach growled.

“Sorry.”

“It’s tea time,” Percy said. “I’m hungry too.”

Silence.

“Do you think she still keeps a tin of biscuits?” Percy asked.

Bill looked over his shoulder, but the doorway and corridor beyond remained empty and silent. “Ginger Newts, weren’t they?”

Percy nodded. “In a tartan tin. They’ve got to be under this mess somewhere.”

Bill joined his brother in lifting piles of parchment and shifting folders. “Aha,” he said softly, when the removal of a scarlet-and-gold scarf exposed a glimpse of red plaid. He popped the lid off.

“Excellent,” Percy said, grabbing two. 

“Have some more,” Bill said, taking his own fistful. “I’ll multiply them so she doesn’t know any are missing.”

Mouth full, Percy grunted his approval and obeyed.

“Well, I see you two are making yourselves at home.”

Bill turned, his stomach clenching in a way that had nothing to do with hunger, feeling like—well, like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the biscuit tin. 

Professor McGonagall swept into her room and behind her desk, surveying them through her square spectacles. 

Percy swallowed. “These are really good, Professor,” he said. “Even better than I remembered. Did you make them yourself? I think they might be better than Mum’s, right, Bill?”

He didn’t know. He hadn’t had a chance to eat one yet.

McGonagall was not flattered. “It is a good thing Hogwarts does not offer a course in ethics, Misters Weasley. Your abysmal performance would have ruined your perfect pass records.”

“We weren’t stealing them,” Bill said quickly. “We were going to—“

“Put them back?” She raised one eyebrow. “Then I am grateful I interrupted you.”

Acutely aware he was holding the evidence of his guilt for all to see, Bill set the tin back on her desk. And replaced the lid. 

“No, Professor,” Percy said as Bill tucked the offending biscuits in his hand behind his back. “We were going to—“

“We were going to bring you some more,” Bill said quickly, certain his original plan to multiply the remaining biscuits and thus deceive her would not meet her ethical standards, either.

“I see. You were going to replace my excellent Ginger Newts with your mother’s inferior ones?”

Bill and Percy both gaped at her, and Bill thought he saw one corner of her mouth twitch.

“Fleur—“

“Miss Del— Mrs. Weasley has no more idea how to make a Ginger Newt than I do a croissant,” McGonagall said. “You used to be a better liar, Bill Weasley.”

Bill snapped his mouth closed, annoyed. She was right, of course, but—perhaps he didn’t miss Hogwarts quite as much as he thought.

“You also used to know how to do a decent Vanishing Spell.” She folded her hands expectantly.

Bill let his disappointment show on his face—a whole handful of biscuits, not eaten!—but McGonagall remained impassive. He touched his wand with his left hand, thought _evanesco_ , and returned his empty right hand to his lap.

“Now then,” McGonagall said, moving the biscuit tin to the shelf behind her and opening a folder as if nothing had happened. “I have assigned fifth-years to both of you, and a handful of seventh-year pupils to Fleur. You two are among the few who qualified in every subject at O.W.L. level, so between your assigned pupils, you are tutoring in almost every subject. I know it is a lot to ask, and a lot to remember, but I have confidence in both of you.” She paused, as if she were having second thoughts after the afternoon’s events, then continued. 

“The children will be meeting their tutors at Hogwarts on the days and times indicated.” She slid a sheet of parchment in front of each of them. “The fifth-years are being granted immunity from the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the express purpose of practicing for the exams, and for practice _only_ ,” she emphasized. “I expect you to reinforce this directive in your conversations with them.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Here is Fleur’s assignment,” she said, laying a second sheet of parchment in front of Bill. “You are all to report to the Great Hall by nine a.m. Saturday next.”

Bill skimmed the page and was relieved to see all the pupils were girls.

“I and the other professors will be available by owl or Floo should you get stuck and need assistance. The library is still inaccessible, I’m afraid, so you’ll have to make do with your own references and what you can find at Flourish and Blotts. Questions?”

Bill and Percy shook their heads and stood to leave.

“And boys?”

They turned.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely.

()()()()

Ginny stumbled on the uneven ground, then straightened. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of salty sea air. Harry stood beside her, looking not towards the Channel but at Bill and Fleur’s house.

“Are you okay?” Ginny said.

He reached for her hand and nodded. “Let’s go.” 

They walked towards the seaside cottage together, feet crunching on a crushed gravel path. Fleur opened the front door before they reached it.

“ _Bienvenue_! Welcome! Harry, it is so good to see you.” Fleur kissed him on both cheeks, then grabbed Ginny and did the same. “And Ginny, _ma soeur_!” 

“Hi, Fleur,” Ginny said, amused by Fleur’s excitement.

“Come in, please,” she said, opening the door wide and standing back. “May I get you something to drink?” 

“We’re fine, thanks,” Harry said.

“Bill is in the garden. Go right through,” Fleur said, waving a hand towards the back of the house, where French doors led to a spacious open area.

“That’s new,” Harry said.

“Yes, we converted a window. I got tired of always walking around the house, small as it is.”

Harry crossed the sitting room and opened the door, but Ginny lingered behind. 

“Fleur, are there any flowers we can pick? And do you maybe have a vase? Harry wants to visit Dobby’s grave.”

“But of course.” Fleur left the narrow hall and entered the kitchen, which ran the length of the house on one side. She picked up her wand, which she had left lying on the worktop, and conjured a simple blue glass vase with a fat bottom. Opening a drawer, she rummaged for a moment, then handed Ginny a pair of pruning shears. “Cut anything you like, _chérie_.”

“Thanks. The house is lovely.”

Fleur gave a small gasp. “I forgot, you have not been here before!”

Ginny shook her head. 

“Come with me. I will give you the tour.”

Ginny trailed her sister-in-law through the cottage, listening to Fleur chatter about her favorite items and improvements she hadn’t got to yet. Every room had a gorgeous view, either of the sea or the surrounding countryside. Ginny found the soft colors and simple decorations soothing, but she couldn’t help thinking about how much she had longed to be here.

“I want to thank you for taking everyone in,” she said as they descended the stairs. “Ron and Harry and Hermione, obviously, but Luna and Dean too. Luna and I have been friends forever, even before Hogwarts, and Dean—well … we used to date, and I’d like to think we’re still friends.”

Fleur paused, her position below Ginny putting the two witches at eye level. “You do not need to thank me for that, Ginny,” she said, pronouncing her name with a soft _g_. “It was the least we could do.”

“Still,” Ginny said quietly. “I know you healed Hermione and gave everyone a place to rest and I appreciate it.”

Fleur held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. “You are welcome,” she said, turning and continuing down the stairs. “I assume Harry has told you what happened?”

“A bit,” Ginny lied. She crossed the length of the sitting room and looked out the French doors. Bill and Harry sat at a small round wooden table, talking.

“One of the most frightening nights of my life, and I hope never to repeat it,” Fleur said. “Ron—he was hysterical. Screaming for Bill, crying, covered in blood. We thought it was his at first, and Hermione….” She made a sudden motion, as if brushing away a cobweb, then said, “We barely got them inside before Harry and the elf appeared at the edge of the wards. It was chaos, pure chaos, and then Bill realized none of his family were safe, and he left to warn you all. I have never seen him like that, not even when working for the Order, and—“

“It’s terrifying,” Ginny said, remembering Bill bursting into the Burrow in the middle of the night. “Seeing someone you love, someone strong, that frightened.”

“ _Oui_.” Fleur joined Ginny at the window. “Having them here was a kind of relief; at least we knew some of you were safe.”

“I wanted to come. When Bill told us that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were here, and Luna—I saw her kidnapping! I wanted to come, but he wouldn’t let me.” She was not entirely successful at keeping the bitterness out of her tone.

“I know. He felt bad, to see your sadness and not be able to ease it.”

Ginny crossed her arms. “He could have,” she said. “I didn’t ask to stay here—I just wanted to visit! He could have brought me along when he moved Mr. Ollivander. And that was the night Professor Lupin came to say Teddy was born. I could have seen him too, and sent a message to Tonks….”

“No, you could not,” Fleur said gently. “You are a smart young woman, Ginny, and you know Bill could not take that risk. For Harry.” 

Ginny said nothing. She still wasn’t sure whom she was the most angry with: Bill for not bringing her, or Harry for not coming. Despite all the explanations, it was hard to understand.

“I’m going to pick some flowers.”

The back garden was beautiful. It ran to the edge of the cliff, with the sea crashing against the rocks below and a low wall ensuring no one went too close to the edge. Fleur had several types of colorful flowers growing in tubs near the house, but Ginny walked straight past them, and her brother and Harry, and headed for the tall grasses and wildflowers at the cliff’s edge.

()()()()

Bill watched his sister stalk past him without saying a word and sighed. “I’m not sure she’s ever going to forgive me,” he said.

“For what?” Harry asked.

“For keeping her away from you,” Bill said simply. When Harry’s face went blank, Bill added, “She wanted to come back with me when I took Mr. Ollivander to Auntie Muriel’s.”

“No!” Harry said at once.

Bill was amused to see him look over his shoulder in Ginny’s direction, then lower his voice.

“No, she couldn’t have done,” he said. “It was too dangerous.”

“She doesn’t seem to care much when people she loves are involved.” Bill pretended not to see the heat creeping up Harry’s face. If Fleur was right, Ginny hadn’t told him yet. “She tried to fight with us at the Burrow the night you all showed up here. Mum actually jinxed her to keep her close so she could Disapparate with her.”

Harry muttered something under his breath.

“I reckon I should thank you,” Bill said, the thought occurring to him suddenly.

“For what?” Harry said again.

“For teaching her to fight.”

“Big mistake,” Harry grumbled. “I did _not_ want her at the Battle. Or the Department of Mysteries, for that matter.”

“No, it wasn’t a mistake,” Bill said. “She would have fought no matter what, but you taught her how to survive.”

Harry turned around again, watching Ginny’s figure as she straightened, walked to another patch of wildflowers, and bent down again. “No, she did that all on her own. I just added a little magic into the mix.”

Bill stood and laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I know you want some time at Dobby’s grave. I’ll help Ginny with the flowers and send her over, okay?”

Harry nodded.

Bill crossed the garden and stopped where his form would cast a shadow over his sister. “Hi, sprite.”

“Hello.” She didn’t look up.

“Can I help?”

Ginny picked up a vase from the ground and shoved it at him. “Hold that.”

Bill took it, recognizing his wife’s style in the blue color and simple, graceful shape. “I’m sorry it’s been so long before we could have you over.”

She paused and glanced at him before returning to her work. “It’s lovely. Very peaceful.”

“Cheers.” He waited a moment, then said, “You don’t seem very peaceful, though.”

Ginny sat back on her heels. “I really, really wanted to come with you that night,” she said quietly. 

“Everyone else did too.”

“Not like I did. No one else wanted to come as much as I did. You had—“

Her brother, her boyfriend, and her two best friends. “I know. I know how much they mean to you, and I was trying to keep them safe. And you.”

“That was the night Lupin came,” Ginny said thickly, tossing fresh flowers on the pile beside her and standing up. “I could have seen him one more time….”

Bill set down the vase and pulled her into a hug. “I know, Gin-Gin. I miss him too.”

She sniffed.

“Are you going to forgive me?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said petulantly.

“That’s okay. You’re my sister, and I love you, and I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

“I know.”

“Good.” Bill dropped a kiss on her forehead, then picked up the vase and the flowers Ginny had cut. “Why don’t you take these over to Harry? Tell him we’ll make sure they get watered for a while.”

Bill watched his sister walk towards the little elf’s grave and sighed. It was one of the first things he thought of when Lupin had knocked on their door that night—that Ginny, and Fred and George, and his parents would have loved to see Remus. To hear the news firsthand that Tonks and the baby were doing well, to celebrate with him. For Mum and Ginny to have been able to give him the gifts they had knitted for the baby. For everyone to see the happiness on the face of a man who had struggled and suffered so much. Bill would never, ever say so to Ginny or Fleur, but sometimes, he wondered if the price of staying safe had been too high.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!

“Harry?”

“Hmm?” He wound her ponytail around his wrist and off again, staring up through the branches of the apple trees.

“Tell me about this one.”

Ginny’s thumb rubbed the inside of his right arm just above the crease, where the Basilisk scar should be. Fawkes had healed it completely; no one but she knew where it was. 

“You know about that one.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

Harry thought about where to begin. “Well, we found out at the dueling club that I could speak Parseltongue, do you remember?”

She nodded.

“That’s really what started it all … I heard the Basilisk the first week of school, during my detention with Lockhart. I didn’t know what it was, of course. I just heard this horrible voice wanting to hurt and kill. I heard it on Halloween too—that’s how we ended up in the corridor where Mrs. Norris was attacked. Hermione couldn’t find any books about the Chamber of Secrets in the library, so she convinced Binns to tell us the legend, and that’s when we found out Salazar Slytherin was the one who created the Chamber and how he fell out with the other founders over accepting Muggle-borns. We all suspected Malfoy, naturally—“

Ginny nodded again.

“And Hermione came up with the idea of brewing Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Crabbe and Goyle and get him to confess.”

“ _That_ was the potions accident?” she said. “A mistake with Polyjuice?”

“She told you?”

“I visited her in the hospital wing, but all she would say was she’d had a potions accident, and I should always be _very_ careful and follow the instructions _exactly_.”

“She thought she had a hair from one of the Slytherin girls, but it turned out to be her cat.”

Ginny giggled, then slapped her hand over her mouth. “It’s not funny,” she said, still fighting a smile. “But Hermione … messing up a potion … and it explains the tail….”

“It’s funny now.” Harry grinned. 

“But it wasn’t Malfoy,” Ginny said, steering them back on track.

“No, and we learned that on Christmas Day, when we took the Polyjuice. Ron and I found the diary in Moaning Myrtle’s toilet not long after that.” Harry shot her a sidelong glance. “I, er, I figured out how to work it when my bag ripped and my ink bottle spilled all over everything.”

Ginny blushed, and Harry knew she was thinking about the singing Valentine too.

“There was ink all over everything _except_ the diary. So, I took it up to the dormitory alone and wrote in it and—“

“Tom wrote back.”

It was Harry’s turn to nod.

“What did he say?” Ginny’s voice had gone tight and flat.

“He showed me what happened the last time the Chamber was opened. He showed me his capture of Hagrid.”

“Hagrid? Hagrid would never hurt anyone!”

“Not on purpose,” Harry agreed. “But he does have a tendency to underestimate how dangerous monsters really are.” He remembered Hagrid’s words as he was being carried out of the Great Hall by Acromantulas: _“Don’t hurt ‘em, don’t hurt ‘em!”_

“You suspected Hagrid?” She crossed her arms and frowned.

“Well, we knew he had been expelled,” Harry said defensively. “And we knew it wasn’t Malfoy, so it seemed unlikely it was his grandfather or anything. We debated about confronting Hagrid, but by that time there hadn’t been an attack for months, so we decided to leave well enough alone.”

“But then … Hermione and Penelope,” Ginny whispered.

“Yes.” His heart felt heavy, realizing Ginny had felt guilty not just for attacking people, but people that she—and those she loved—cared about. “But that wasn’t you,” he said firmly.

“I made it possible,” she said evenly. “Without me, without a live body to inhabit, Riddle would never have been able to open the Chamber and release the Basilisk. Without me, no one would have been Petrified.”

“Yes, but—“

“What happened next?”

Harry frowned at her attempt to change the subject. “Without me, George would still have two ears. Hermione’s parents wouldn’t be in Australia. Loads of people wouldn’t be dead. And don’t say it’s different, because it’s not. Everybody says it’s not my fault, that they don’t blame me. Well, no one blames you, either. Certainly not me. And not Hermione, I know.”

Ginny sat quiet and still, and Harry hoped he’d made her think.

“What happened next?” she said again.

“We went to see Hagrid, and he told us to ‘follow the spiders.’” Harry sighed. “That was the monster he’d been hiding in the school, the monster everyone thought was responsible for Myrtle’s death—Aragog the Acromantula.”

“Myrtle’s death?”

“Aragog wouldn’t tell us anything about the real monster, but he said the girl who was killed was found in a bathroom.”

“So, Tom figured out how to open the Chamber of Secrets, and when the Basilisk came out, it killed Myrtle. Then he framed Hagrid for the murder and Hagrid was expelled, but _he_ finished school,” Ginny spat.

“With honors,” Harry said, then at her questioning look, he added, “He was Head Boy. And they gave him a Special Award for Services to the School for ‘catching’ the monster.”

She scowled for a couple of minutes longer, then said, “But that still doesn’t explain how you found me.”

“Ron and I were trying to find a way to talk to Myrtle, to ask how she died. We gave Lockhart the slip one morning, but McGonagall caught us, and I said we wanted to visit Hermione. She sent us on to the hospital wing, and it was the first time we’d seen Hermione since she’d been Petrified, and she had a note in her hand—a page from a book, explaining about Basilisks. She’d written _pipes_ in the margin, and we put that together and realized the entrance was in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. We were on our way to tell McGonagall when—when—when we found out you’d been taken.”

Ginny shuddered, and Harry pulled her close. She was cold, and he wrapped his arms and legs around her, trying to cover as much of her as he could.

“Me and Ron—we’d hidden in a wardrobe in the staff room, so we knew they were expecting Lockhart to go after you. After a while—after hours and hours of just waiting miserably, we decided to go tell Lockhart what we knew in hopes it would help.” Harry clenched his jaw. “But he was packing—running. Like a coward,” he said scornfully. “He confessed he hadn’t done any of the things he’d written in his books, and then he tried to modify our memories. But I disarmed him, and we forced him to come into the Chamber with us. I opened it using Parseltongue.”

“But there was the cave-in,” Ginny said.

“Yes, Lockhart got Ron’s wand and tried to Obliviate him again, but it backfired. That was Ron’s old wand, remember?” He felt her nod against his shoulder.

“Harry, what happened—what happened in the Chamber? I woke up and—and there was this great dead snake, and Riddle was gone, and you showed me the diary with a hole through it….”

So, Harry told her about seeing her lying at the foot of Salazar Slytherin’s statue, cold and pale, about Riddle and his taunting. Discovering that he was a young Lord Voldemort. How Harry had been filled with panic, then growing courage as phoenix song filled the Chamber. Pulling on the Sorting Hat in a fit of desperation and begging for help, only to nearly be knocked out cold as the sword of Gryffindor clunked onto his head. How Fawkes had poked out the basilisk’s eyes and made it safe for Harry to fight it.

“You know the rest.” 

Ginny lay still with her head in the hollow of his shoulder for several minutes.

“Did Tom ever tell you anything about me? About what I wrote?”

“Not specifically.”

“Good.”

Harry tickled her nose with her hair. “What, was it all about me?”

She didn’t smile. “I was terrified that you would find out, that you would never like me and I would be expelled and my family—“

“Your family adores you,” Harry said firmly.

“I know, but—I was young, and Tom messed with my mind. Fed my fears. When I saw—“ She took a deep breath. “On Valentine’s Day, when I saw you with the diary, I knew I had to get it back. He had asked me so many questions about you. I knew it wasn’t safe for you to have it. I’m sorry I trashed your dormitory.”

Harry squeezed her tightly. “It’s all right, Ginny. You’re safe now. We’re both safe.”

She reached up and kissed him, and it was several long minutes before she spoke.

“Do you remember Christmas your fifth year? At Grimmauld Place?”

He nodded. 

“Remember hiding from everyone because we overheard Moody say he thought you were possessed, and then when Hermione arrived, you finally came out and talked to us?”

Harry nodded again, wondering where she was going with this.

“Do you remember what I said?”

He was quiet for a moment. “That I should have talked to you because you knew what it was like to be possessed by Voldemort.”

“And do you remember what you said?” she whispered.

“ ‘I forgot.’ ”

“How could you have done that, Harry?” Ginny’s voice was anguished, her face twisted with hurt as she pushed herself up on one elbow to look down at him. “How could you have forgotten about the Chamber?”

“I didn’t forget about the Chamber,” he said, smoothing her hair away from her face. “I watched you, those last few days of term, and you seemed all right. Perfectly happy.”

“Didn’t … didn’t Ron tell you about that summer? About what happened in Egypt?”

Harry shook his head. “What happened in Egypt?”

Ginny’s expression changed, and she lay down again, but not on his shoulder—beside him. “I had nightmares all summer long,” she said. “I used to sneak upstairs and sleep with Ron because I was scared to be by myself.”

“I had no idea,” Harry said in amazement. “You seemed just fine. Resilient. Strong.”

“I wasn’t. I was scared of my own shadow that summer, and I was terrified of going back to Hogwarts. I knew, logically, that it couldn’t happen again, but I had these big gaps in my memory, and I hadn’t really made any friends because I was always writing to Tom, and the castle seemed big and spooky and intimidating. I think it’s why, when Dad won the _Daily Prophet_ prize, they took me to Egypt.”

“To Egypt,” Harry said blankly, not following.

Ginny nodded. “To see Bill.”

And it clicked. “To see a curse breaker!”

“Yes. But Mum and Dad didn’t want to talk about what had happened, I could tell. So, I hid my fear and the nightmares as well as I could, but we visited all these dark, underground tombs, and I wouldn’t go in. Mum said I was too little, but Bill knew there was something wrong when I didn’t argue with her. He tried to get me to talk about it several times, but—well, I didn’t like to talk about it, and I didn’t want him to think badly of me.”

Harry reached down and took her hand. “What happened?”

“I sort of fell apart the night we got our Hogwarts letters. Ron fetched Bill from his flat, and he convinced me to let him take me into the curse breakers’ training course so he could teach me how to work around dark magic.”

Harry was surprised. “The curse breakers’ training course? Really?”

Ginny nodded. “Ron never said anything? He was there too.”

“Not a word. He’s very protective of you, you know.”

“I know,” she said with easy confidence. 

“I never would have guessed, Ginny. You seemed fine, and I knew you were strong and capable. I thought you had handled everything on your own.”

“You really watched to make sure I was okay?”

“I did. When we were in McGonagall’s office afterwards, I was trying to think of how to explain without mentioning you. I was terrified you were going to be expelled. I wanted you to be safe and happy and at Hogwarts with us.”

“You did?”

“Well, not that I would have admitted it back then, but yeah. You were cute. And you liked me.”

“Oh, I see. You just wanted another cute girl for your fan club,” Ginny teased.

Harry laughed. “Hagrid used to tease me about you. He thought you were coming to visit him in hopes of running into me.”

“I was in the beginning,” she admitted. “But Hagrid became one of my first friends at Hogwarts. And—“

“Colin,” Harry said quietly.

“Yes.” 

They were quiet for a few minutes. Ginny snuggled against him again, and Harry ran his hand through her hair, loosening her ponytail. She didn’t protest.

“So, when you said you forgot, what you meant was you thought I was strong enough to handle it, and I appeared to be doing well, so you didn’t worry about me.”

“That’s it.”

“That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me.”

Harry scrunched his neck to look down at her. “What do you mean?”

“Well, everyone else walked on tiptoe around me for a while, like I was fragile. Like they were afraid I would shatter or explode or something. Even when I went back to Hogwarts, it was hard because everyone knew but no one knew what to say. Except Professor Lupin.”

“Lupin? He knew?”

“I think Bill wrote and asked him to look out for me,” Ginny said. “Lupin tried to make out that Dumbledore had told him, but I never really bought that. I was really annoyed at Bill because I didn’t want anyone else to know, but Lupin gave me some extra work and helped me catch up with my lessons. Didn’t you ever notice that Bill and Lupin were friends?”

“Not really.” But then again, it had been to Bill’s house Lupin had come to announce his son’s birth.

“Well, you weren’t at Grimmauld Place as long as we were. I noticed it the first time they met—it was like they already knew each other.”

“Nothing gets by you, does it?”

“You remember that, Harry Potter.”

()()()()

Harry lay in the shade of the willow tree by the pond two days later, supposedly dozing but in actuality watching Ginny through his eyelashes. She lay just outside of the shadows, propped on her forearms as she flipped through the latest copy of _Teen Witch_ , her ankles crossed and swaying back and forth behind her. She wore an aqua bikini and nothing else, and either Harry had not paid proper attention when Ginny and Hermione sunned themselves by the pond the summer before sixth year or Ginny had grown. Harry let out a quiet breath and made a discrete clothing adjustment. She was so distracting, it was hard to think.

But he was going to have to tell her soon.

They had been kissing and talking in the orchard for a month, and he still hadn’t told her about the Horcruxes. Nothing from this last year, really, because it all revolved around Horcruxes or Hallows. What they were, who had them, where they were hidden, how to destroy them, when they would find another, why Dumbledore hadn’t given him more information, how the Hallows played into the plan. 

And Ginny was getting impatient. She didn’t say so, but Harry could feel it in the line of her body when he chose something to tell her, could see the flicker of disappointment in her eyes. And he.… 

His eyes strayed over her form again. He wanted to see just how serious she was about offering “all” her freckles to him, but it didn’t feel right when he was hiding something from her. Ginny was smart and intuitive. She had always had an uncanny, almost unsettling, knack for understanding him. Harry was afraid she would guess the rest once he explained about the Horcruxes, and he didn’t want to talk about the final Horcrux. He didn’t want to talk about the Forest.

But Godric, she was gorgeous, and clever and funny and…. Without consciously thinking about it, he rolled towards her.

“Look at this,” Ginny said. “They did a story on Dumbledore’s Army.” She held up the magazine, which showed a picture of the DA from fifth year. “It’s one of Colin’s photos. He would have been over the moon to see it published.”

Harry rolled back onto his back, staring up into the hanging branches of the weeping willow. “Yeah, he would have been.”

“I’m sorry,” Ginny said after a minute. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“Well, it’s not hard to do, is it?”

“No. But it will get better.”

Harry turned his head to look at her, her features blurred by the bright sunlight behind her. “Do you think so?”

Ginny stared at the photo with peculiar intensity.

“It got better after Cedric died, and Sirius,” she said. “I know you still miss them, but not like you did at first, right?”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to talk about the dead any more than he wanted to talk about immortality.

“Right, Harry?” 

Her voice cracked, and he realized with a start that if she was studying a photograph of the DA, she was seeing Fred. Harry scrambled for something to say and came up with his own lifeline. 

“This makes it better, doesn’t it? Being together?” He reached across the shadows and laced his hand with hers.

She squeezed back hard and nodded, blinking fast.

“I don’t know what I would have done this summer without you, Ginny.”

She squeezed his hand again. “Me either.” 

Then, as if to reinforce his concerns about her perceptiveness, Ginny let go and turned back to her magazine.

He was going to have to tell her soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ginny would not have known about the Basilisk scar. It is only in the movie that she wakes up before the wound is healed, and while I usually ignore any changes made by the movies, I couldn't resist the romance of the two of them being the only ones who knew the scar's exact location.
> 
> Hagrid's plea not to hurt the acromantulas is from: Rowling, J. K. _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_. Bloomsbury: London, 1997. I admit to being too lazy to look up the page number right this second, but it's in chapter thirty-two, "The Elder Wand."


	21. Chapter Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! This story is actually finished, so I decided I would add some extra updates to get us there sooner. You can count on Wednesdays plus some random chapters in between as I have time to upload and post them. 
> 
> For any twenty-two-year-old (or older!) readers who are living at home, _please_ don't be offended by Bill's comment! I think things are a little speeded up in the wizarding world, that's all.
> 
> **Trigger warning** for discussion of sexual assault.

“Ginny?”

“Hmm?”

She sat cross-legged in front of him, and Harry had her hair in his hands, preparing to weave it into a plait. It had got tangled when they were kissing, and it was slow work to separate the long strands.

“Tell me about your detentions.” He ignored the prodding of his conscience, which thought he should be talking about Horcruxes. _Soon. I’ll tell her soon_. 

She shrugged. “It was detention. There’s nothing to tell.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

She turned, trying to get a glimpse of his face without pulling her hair. “Who have you been talking to?”

“Neville,” he said, and she winced.

She sat quietly for a while, long enough for him to finish the plait and awkwardly twist a hairband around the end. She pulled it over her shoulder, examining his work.

“You’re getting good at that. I can teach you to French braid soon.”

“Ginny.”

“Harry, I—“

“I want to know. I deserve to know, just like you do with me.”

She fiddled with the end of the plait for a moment, then said, “What did he tell you?”

“That Seamus noticed the girls came back from detentions with no visible marks. That the older girls took detentions for the younger ones, especially the pure-blood witches. He implied you were being … abused.”

“Better us than the young girls!” Ginny said, firing up at once. “At least we understood what was happening!”

Harry felt the tension all over his body and did his best to keep his voice calm. “What was happening?”

Ginny moved to sit beside him instead of in front of him, but she still didn’t look at him. “You won’t tell Ron?”

Harry shook his head.

“There was some … inappropriate behavior. Intimidation, mostly—it was always a group of them but only one of us, deep in the dungeons where no one could hear and no one passed by. And … suggestive comments.” Ginny picked a long blade of grass and shredded it into her lap. “Really vile stuff. I learned that he liked it—Amycus, I mean—he liked it when we fought back, so I just—I just stood still and pretended I was somewhere else. It only happened a few times.”

“It shouldn’t have happened at all,” Harry said. His neck was so tight it hurt to turn and look at her.

She brushed the grass out of her lap. “It’s not your fault. And you couldn’t have stopped it, even if you had been there. Don’t you think Neville and Seamus and the others tried?”

“What made them stop?”

Ginny gave a bitter laugh. “They counted on us being too ashamed to talk to each other. They always chose just one of us at a time, but I noticed the same thing—girls coming back from detention obviously upset but apparently unharmed. I cornered a second-year one night and found out they were doing the same thing to the younger girls too. She was just a child, Harry! I told her to spread the word among the younger girls to let us know, and we started showing up at their detentions. Carrow never turned us away. At first it was just me and Luna and Lavender and Parvati, but then Parvati told Padma and the other DA girls found out and wanted to help, and the fifth-years did too. It helped, knowing we weren’t alone, and it helped to know we were sparing the younger girls. 

“I realized no one else knew, not even his sister, and I thought we could use that to our advantage. So, we—the pure-blood witches, I mean, because they were a bit more guarded with us—we started spreading ourselves around the school at break and free times, and whenever Amycus or any of the Slytherin boys who had been involved started bullying someone, we just stepped in front of them. It worked best when there were two or three of us, because then they knew we were working together. We weren’t keeping their dirty little secret,” she said scornfully.

“How did you plan all this?” Harry asked. “You couldn’t have used the coins.”

“No, we didn’t want the boys to know.”

“Neville said you had some kind of communication system, though.”

She smiled. “The lavatories.”

“What?”

“Girls talk in lavatories. All girls use them, girls of different ages and different Houses. It doesn’t matter where in the castle you are, you’re never suspicious going into or coming out of a lavatory. It’s how we spread the word to the girls who weren’t part of the DA. Did a fair amount of recruiting, actually.”

“But there aren’t that many pure-bloods,” Harry said.

“You’d be surprised,” she said. “Especially when you include Slytherin House.”

“What!”

“Oh, yes.” Ginny’s voice had lost its tense, bitter tone. “One of the Slytherin fifth-years got detention for snooping on one of their meetings with Snape. We think she was reporting back to her parents—none of them trusted each other, you know. Anyway, Amycus made the mistake of choosing her for one of their little sessions. I’ll say this for the Slytherin girls, they take care of their own. Two days after they joined us, it ended.”

“Just like that.”

Ginny set her jaw, the stubborn look she’d given him before, but Harry didn’t back down.

“You were—were—manhandled and humiliated by a teacher who had control over all the punishments at Hogwarts, and it just ended?”

“I’ll take the physical abuse over the humiliation any day. Don’t look at me like that, Harry, that’s all I know. There’s a lot of politics in Slytherin House, and one of those girls knew something. One of them must have had something on Carrow, something big enough to make him back off.”

Harry continued to frown at her, but when she said no more, he moved on. “Neville said they targeted you for uniform violations.”

Ginny nodded and plucked another piece of grass. “I was an idiot,” she said quietly. “I was counting on my pure-blood status, even as a blood traitor, to be somewhat of a shield. I didn’t—being a girl, though, a pure-blood female, I—“ She took a deep breath.

Harry reached for her hand, and she clutched his tightly.

“I forgot that would be an advantage for … breeding. And it didn’t require my consent.”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath and swore, but Ginny didn’t flinch. 

“Cr—one of them stripped my jumper off in the middle of the courtyard. I—it was a Saturday, I was wearing denims and your dragon jumper, and—“ 

She drew her knees up to her chest, and Harry waited, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.

“He was making fun of my Muggle clothing, calling me a Squib, and I—I was so shocked—I had my wand, but I was so shocked that I just stood there.”

“But—the detentions. If they were doing that, then why….“

“They had never— No one—“ 

Harry heard her swallow, and her voice was thick with suppressed tears. 

“No one had removed my clothes before. But that day, he just—he just walked right up and ripped it over my head. I was wearing a shirt underneath, but—” She swallowed again. “It was horrible.”

“Wasn’t there anyone else around?”

“There were loads of people around.”

Harry realized that had only added to her shame. Probably part of the reason why Crabbe had done it. 

“Carrow had grabbed a first-year two days before at breakfast, just a random first-year, and Cruicio’ed her because someone mouthed off about Snape. If anyone tried to interfere, they wouldn’t have been the only person punished. The Carrows were learning relationships, who were siblings and cousins and friends, and they used that to manipulate us. And he wasn’t hurting me.”

Harry made a noise in his throat.

“Anyway, he was going on about—making all these nasty suggestions, and people were laughing and catcalling, and when he reached for my shirt, I finally came to myself and hexed him.”

“What happened?”

“McGonagall found me,” Ginny said, visibly relieved. “I don’t know if she saw it or heard it, but she found me and took me to her office, gave me a robe and put me to work copying a section of _Advanced Transfiguration_ we were studying that week. When the Carrows came to her for help getting into Gryffindor Tower, because that’s where they thought I’d gone, she acted like I’d been in her office the whole time, doing a detention for not completing an essay for her. Which was true. We’d had a DA meeting the night before it was due. I’d just dashed off something quick, so the bad mark was in her grade book.”

“And they believed her?”

“Oh, no. But you know McGonagall—she’s a formidable witch, and the Carrows weren’t stupid enough to go against her. Even Snape was a little afraid of her. He always seemed … rather sensitive to what she said. She gave me such a telling off when they left, but I didn’t need it. I was pretty scared already. Snape ordered my room searched, and they took everything that was associated with you.”

There was one thing he still didn’t understand. “Why did you do that? Why did you draw attention to yourself?”

Ginny dropped his hand. “I did it for you! And for everyone else who wanted to believe in you but was too scared.”

“But you were supposed to stay safe. The Death Eaters weren’t supposed to associate you with me!”

Her eyes flashed. “That was your decision, Harry, not mine. I _never_ wanted that.”

“Well, what about what I wanted!”

“You got what you wanted!” Ginny stood up, glaring down at him with fists clenched, and Harry scrambled up to meet her. “You broke up with me and left without warning and just disappeared! You went off with Ron and Hermione, the DA’s Golden Trio out to save the world. And I was the one left behind, left behind with a broken heart and a broken family and a broken school! I had to pick up the pieces and figure out how to survive, because _you weren’t there_!”

“THAT WASN’T MY FAULT!” Harry bellowed. “I didn’t have a choice, I _had_ to go after Voldemort! I didn’t want Ron and Hermione to come, but they insisted. And I’ve lost a lot too. Believe me, it wasn’t a cakewalk!”

Ginny looked nonplussed at the Muggle analogy, and something about her expression calmed some of Harry’s anger.

“It wasn’t easy,” he said shortly.

“How would I know? You won’t tell me what you lot were doing,” she retorted.

Harry looked away from her, out over the fields, and clenched his jaw, trying to control his temper. “It’s hard to talk about. And not all the secrets are mine to share.”

They looked at each other, both breathing hard, and finally Ginny nodded. “All right. I can understand that. But there’s something you need to understand, Harry: you do not speak for me. You do not make choices for me. You do not get to put me in some safe little box on a shelf somewhere and take me down whenever it’s convenient for you. Yes, I fought for you, but I had plenty of other reasons to fight too. So, even if we hadn’t gone out, even if you’d never existed and all this stuff had happened to some other Boy Who Lived—“

Harry’s heart clenched at the possibility.

“I would still have been in Dumbledore’s Army, I would still have challenged Snape and the Carrows, I would still have fought back. Because what was happening was wrong, and I’m not the kind of person to do nothing. That’s not how I was raised. And if you would be honest with yourself for two seconds, you could admit that’s one of the reasons you like me so much.”

Harry stared at her. Godric, she was amazing. Fiery and feisty and fierce, and she was right. He was attracted to her immense inner strength and even her stubbornness. She challenged him.

“Okay,” he said simply. He stepped closer and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. She didn’t withdraw, but she gave him a suspicious look. “I can accept you did what you felt you had to do, even if I don’t like it, if you can accept that I’m always going to want to protect you. Even though you don’t need it,” he added hastily.

“Hmph,” she said, but she pressed her face into his chest and hugged him back.

()()()()

Mum had cooked. 

A simple roast and vegetables, but still—Bill’s mother had planned and prepared a meal for her family and he was grateful. And not just because it was a change from Ginny’s usual shepherd’s pie, either. Mum had even tried to clear up, but Bill and Percy had run her off, and the overlapping chatter of witches drifted in from the sitting room as Fleur, Mum, and Ginny talked. 

Bill had asked Percy how work was going and hadn’t had to say much since. Percy’s attitude towards the Ministry may have changed, but his enthusiasm for work in general had not. Percy had always been a hard worker; even as a little boy he had striven to keep up with Bill and Charlie in everything from room cleaning to gnome tossing to maths.

Bill frowned as he stacked cutlery in the drawer, only half-listening. Was Percy taking that work ethic and applying it to reconciling with the family? Bill had been somewhat surprised to see Percy come down the stairs when Ginny called everyone to dinner. He understood why Percy stayed when Charlie was home (Bill would have liked to do the same), but Charlie had gone back to Romania a fortnight ago. He was coming back next weekend, and Bill knew without asking that Charlie wouldn’t expect to find Percy still living at the Burrow.

Percy paused for breath and Bill seized the opportunity. “It’s okay to go home, you know,” he said matter-of-factly.

If he hadn’t been watching, he would have missed it: the very slightest pause of the sponge at the edge of the worktop before Percy swept the crumbs into his hand.

“I am home.”

“I’m talking about _your_ home, your flat. It’s okay to leave—you’ll still be part of the family, Perce.”

“There’s nothing there,” Percy said.

Bill set the last plate on the shelf and closed the cupboard. “I wouldn’t call your own space nothing.” 

“No, I mean there’s nothing there—just a bed and a ratty molded sofa Fred and George sent as a ‘housecooling’ gift. I never even got a table. I eat standing over the sink.”

Bill paused. Even an entry-level position at the Ministry would allow for the decent furnishing of a small flat. 

“So, ask Mum to help you,” he suggested. “It would be good for her to have something to do, and you know she’d love it.”

“She’d hate it,” Percy said flatly, wringing the sponge dry. “I hate that flat. It’s a horrible flat, dark and cramped and overlooking a row of skips. It stinks. Literally.”

Percy was a hard worker, all right—especially when it came to punishing himself.

“Then get a new one,” Bill said. “You’re nearly twenty-two years old, Perce—you can’t live with your mummy forever.”

Percy scowled, but Bill pretended this was just an ordinary conversation. Just some friendly advice between brothers about growing up, and making your own way in the world, and having a halfway decent place to bring a witch when you had the chance.

Percy had picked up the sponge again and was wiping around each burner of the cooktop. Bill waited.

“It’s just—I was gone for a long time, and now you and Charlie are gone, and George … and no one knows when Ron is coming back, and Ginny is the only one at home….”

“I’m just saying,” Bill said quietly. “When you decide you’re ready to leave, that’s okay. All right?”

Percy nodded. 

“And for Merlin’s sake, get a table and chairs. Witches will not eat breakfast standing over a sink.” 

()()()()

It had been a good evening, relatively speaking. Bill had beaten both his dad and Percy at chess and though Mum had gone up to bed early, tonight was the longest she had spent with the family in weeks. He would have to remember to thank Fleur; there were two projects lying at the top of his mother’s knitting basket, one with a fat needle and uneven stitches, and he suspected Fleur had asked her mother-in-law to teach her how to knit. He sighed. Maybe Fleur would be a slow learner and it would be another year before he started getting _two_ homemade jumpers for Christmas….

Percy and Harry were playing chess now, and Ginny sat on Harry’s lap. Bill remembered when she used to sit on _his_ lap when there was a chess match going on, how she had wanted to move the queen on every play and fussed if Dad or Percy beat him, how she had always been the first to run to meet him when he stepped off the Hogwarts Express and the last to let go when it was time to step back on. How she begged him to read “just one more” even when her eyes were crossing. Hell, one Christmas—sixth year, maybe?—he’d resorted to sitting on the side of the bath with the shower running just to get ten minutes’ peace from her, and now she barely noticed he was in the same house. 

Not that she was rude; she had shot him a dirty look when he failed to hide his initial relief that there was something different for dinner, and warned him not to leave his cloak on the back of the sofa if he didn’t want Arnold to chew it, and asked him to pass the bread. But she had been too wrapped up in Harry to pay any real attention to her oldest brother.

Like now. Bill was directly in her line of sight, but Ginny hadn’t looked at him once. She sat quietly on Harry’s lap with her head against his shoulder, watching the match without comment, and Bill had to admit with her hands folded in her lap and Harry’s free hand idly twisting the ends of her ponytail while he used his right to move the pieces, there wasn’t anything provocative or improper about their behavior. Fleur had said to watch Ginny—even Ron had told him to watch the two of them together, and….

His baby sister was in love. It was written all over her face, in the stillness of her expression, the softness of her eyes, the slight smile that didn’t waver. The simple fact that she remained quiet and content simply to be near Harry spoke volumes about how Bill’s spunky, chatty sister felt about the wizard holding her. He didn’t need to be next to them to know Harry was paying no attention to the game; the abundance of battered white pieces off the edge of Percy’s side of the board attested to that. 

Maybe—just maybe, mind you—Potter wasn’t half bad if, in the midst of tragedy, he could make Ginny look like that. Calm, and peaceful, and … assured. Like she was completely confident she was exactly where she belonged.

()()()()

Bill and Charlie had brought all their brothers onto the roof a few times, but tonight it was just the two of them. Considering he had to work tomorrow, Bill would have to leave soon, but between the chaos of Charlie’s arrival earlier this evening and a late dinner, this was the first time the two had had a chance to visit.

Not that they talked much.

Charlie elbowed Bill in the ribs, and he followed his brother’s pointing finger. Ginny stalked across the garden in grass-eating strides, broomstick over her shoulder and Harry trailing well behind her, empty-handed. Dammit—just when he was starting to warm up to the kid, and now they were fighting again. Bill considered casting an eavesdropping charm, but at the rate Ginny was moving, she would soon be in earshot. Harry broke into a trot and caught up with her just before she reached the back door. Bill and Charlie reversed positions, heads down, to keep the pair in sight.

“Don’t touch me!” Ginny shook herself and spun around, causing Harry to duck as the broomstick’s tail swept by at head level.

“I was just going to put your broom away for you.”

She looked incensed; her face was easily as red as her hair, a bad sign for any Weasley. But at least she wasn’t crying.

“I do not need you to put my broom away for me any more than I need you to tell me how to fly or how to land!”

Charlie raised one eyebrow, and Bill nodded in agreement. Harry had been asking for trouble if he had tried to control Ginny’s broomstick.

“Well then, why did you walk past the shed?”

No, no, no; the kid was trying to use reason and logic. That was never going to work.

“Because I was afraid if I took my broomstick off my shoulder, I might club you with it!”

Harry took a couple of prudent steps backwards before he began to fight back.

“I still don’t understand why you’re angry with me for keeping us from crashing.”

“We were not going to crash!”

“Ginny, that tree wasn’t ten feet away when I pulled the broom up!”

“We were not going to crash,” she repeated, closing the distance between them to jab a finger in Harry’s chest. “I’ve been flying in that orchard since I was six years old—“

“Not with a wizard on your tail, you haven’t.”

Uh-oh. Now he was actually right, and that was worse. Bill was starting to understand what Ron meant back at Hogwarts when he said Harry acting noble seemed to piss Ginny off the most.

After a moment of silence, Ginny spun around, and Harry ducked the broom’s tail again.

“Next time, I’ll thank you to keep your hands off my broomstick!”

“Well, what the hell else was I supposed to do with them?” Harry shouted.

Beside Bill, Charlie began banging his forehead on the shingles. “He did not just say that. Please tell me there is not a Quidditch-playing wizard in existence who does not know what to do with a witch on a broomstick.”

Bill patted him on the back, focused on the drama below.

“Oh, I don’t know, Harry, use your imagination!” Ginny made to enter the house, but Harry grabbed her arm.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ginny jerked her arm out of Harry’s grip and didn’t answer. Harry eyed her broomstick, still propped over her shoulder, then stepped closer to her.

“Ginny?”

“Well, what else was there to hold on to?” she asked.

Bill gave a silent groan of sympathy. Now she was making him guess, stringing him along so she could pull the trap shut….

Harry looked suspicious and hopeful at the same time, as if he knew what she meant but thought it was too good to be true.

“Nothing, that’s my point. I had to hold onto the broomstick to keep us balanced….”

Ginny’s expression must have revealed that as an incorrect answer, for Harry’s voice trailed off, and he took a step backwards again. Charlie resumed his head-banging.

“Me, Harry, me! I wanted you to hold onto me.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?”

One thing was certain: either Ron had not given Harry a copy of _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_ for his seventeenth birthday, or Harry hadn’t read it.

“Maybe because riding one broom was my idea?”

“We’ll go now,” Harry said, reaching out for Ginny’s broomstick, then thinking better of it and tucking his hands behind his back. 

“No.”

“Come on, I’ll let you steer and everything.”

Ginny shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Ginny, I just— I’ve never flown with anyone else, and I didn’t like not having control of the broomstick.”

“You don’t trust me,” she accused.

“No! I mean, yes, of course I trust you.”

“Just not enough to believe I won’t fly you into a tree.”

Harry’s mouth opened and closed helplessly.

“Or to tell me the truth.”

“I haven’t lied to you,” he said quickly.

“But you’re hiding something,” Ginny said. “You’re hiding something you won’t tell me about, when I’ve told you _everything_!” Her voice cracked.

Harry didn’t deny it; in fact, the truth of her accusation was written all over his face.

Ginny slammed the back door behind her so hard that Bill felt the vibration beneath him.


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

Ginny stormed up the stairs and into her room, thew her broomstick down, and kicked the door closed behind her, uncaring of how much noise she made even as Arnold squeaked indignantly from his cage on her desk. It was a perfect night for a fly, clear with a full moon, and just cool enough that the air felt refreshing, not cold. She had so looked forward to sharing a broomstick with Harry; it was one of her favorite daydreams. Snuggled in his arms, his warmth behind her back, surrounded by a velvety sky and a lover’s moon … maybe he would kiss her neck, or warm his hands under her jumper…. But Harry had done none of those things. 

Ginny flung herself across her bed. No, Harry had sat so far behind her he threw off the balance of the broom, causing the tail to drag, and then he had the audacity to reach forward not to embrace her, but to fly the broomstick. They nearly had crashed on landing as they fought for control. She was sorry he no longer had his Firebolt (that had been another favorite fantasy, shooting from the ground to the clouds like a firecracker), but that did not give him the right to fly her broomstick while she was still on it! She could appreciate that Harry was a bit slow about relationship things, but he was a boy, and she had never met a boy who was so clueless about sex.

Ginny reached for her pillow and settled herself more comfortably. Okay, not clueless, exactly, more like … scared. Yes, that was it— Harry was acting like he was scared of her, afraid to touch her, and she couldn’t figure out why. She had practically given the bloke _carte blanche_ with her scars and freckles offer, but Harry wasn’t taking any risks at all. Her hands, her face, her neck, her left arm … nothing that required her to remove clothing. All right, her neck was one of her favorite places to be kissed, and since Harry had discovered that last year, it made sense that he would choose it more than once. But Ginny suspected she had other favorite places that just hadn’t been kissed yet, and it was very frustrating not to discover them.

Not that she was ready to go all the way, not yet, not quite, but— well, the end of summer was still more than two months away, and Ginny really didn’t want to go back to Hogwarts without crossing that milestone with Harry. It felt … permanent. She was not the kind of person to be casual with that decision, nor was Harry. If they slept together, Ginny would know they were together for good. She had spent one year away from Harry without the security of a defined relationship; she did not want to spend another.

But why was Harry so reluctant? He hadn’t been like this last year. Not that they’d really done anything; she had moved his hand off her bum or her chest after a few seconds, but at least he had put it there. Now he wasn’t even trying. And he didn’t know where to put his hands when they flew on the same broomstick? Ridiculous. Absurd.

Ginny was halfway to the window before she realized she had got up. She sighed, pushing back the curtain to look out over the orchard. She loved the view from her room; on a clear night like this, she could see the lights in the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. She leaned her cheek against the glass, thinking.

Why was he still hiding what he and Ron and Hermione had done last year? It didn’t have anything to do with what she had said in the common room the night of the Battle, did it? Harry had forgiven her, in all other aspects was doing couple-y things with her, was opening up and talking to her about other things, things he had refused to discuss when they were together last year. That was what she wanted most, to hear what Harry had been through, what he thought and how he felt, to know everything about him. But maybe … maybe this really was about trust. She had watched Harry for years, she usually knew how to handle him, but this was different. Ginny had never done this before, had never tried to advance things with her other boyfriends, and maybe….

No. She dropped the curtain and turned from the window. She hadn’t let Tom Riddle invade her mind since his memory had been destroyed, and she certainly wasn’t going to do it now that he was dead. She was not a silly little girl, and Harry did not think she was stupid. He had noticed her; he did notice her. She was not imagining the itchy feeling between her shoulder blades as she moved around the Burrow or the response of his body when they were kissing. 

Ginny sighed. She had kissed him first, she had offered all her freckles for his inspection, she had asked him to fly on her broomstick. She had been open about her feelings about him leaving, about Fred, about the Chamber, about everything. She didn’t know what else to do to prove to Harry that he could trust her. Whatever it was, Ginny knew pushing Harry was not the answer. 

She wished she knew what was. 

()()()()

Harry approached the bathroom the next morning to find Ginny on her hands and knees, cleaning the bath. He cleared his throat.

She spared him a brief glance. “I’ll be done in a minute.”

He leaned against the doorjamb. “I, uh … I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“I know.” She had both hands on the sponge and scrubbed vigorously, leaning her weight into it.

He studied her, the tension in her back, the jerkiness of her movements. “Are you still mad at me?”

She paused, pushing a loose strand of hair out of her face. “Not mad, exactly.”

He frowned. “What, then?”

She shrugged—or at least he thought she did. It was hard to tell when she was on all fours like that.

“Ginny?”

She focused her attention on the drain. “I had pictured us flying together loads of times, but I never thought you wouldn’t want to hold me.”

“I never pictured you flying the broomstick.”

That got her attention. “Well, maybe if you still had your Firebolt….”

He laughed. “You’d be even less likely to sit quietly on the back.”

She grinned. “I miss that broom, and I never even flew it.”

“Me too,” he said quietly.

She tossed the sponge in the bucket beside her, gave the bath a quick rinse, and stood up. “Well, it’s all yours. I left you a few sausages on the stove.”

“Thanks.”

He was going to have to tell her. Soon….

()()()()

Charlie approached the entrance to Number 93, Diagon Alley. Compared to the rest of the street, Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was bright, colorful, and eye-catching, featuring pastel-colored Pygmy Puffs rolling around in baskets stuffed with fake grass. Several of the shops didn’t even have windows—just cardboard taped over jagged glass.

Charlie opened the door, which blew a loud raspberry as he stepped across the threshold. Chuckling, he glanced round the shop. Seeing no one, not even George or Verity, he flipped the sign to _closed_ and turned the lock.

“George! Where are you? George!” He stepped over merchandise and around displays and wound his way through the cluttered shop to the back room. “Hey, why didn’t you—it’s just me, Charlie!” 

Charlie froze and raised both hands, and George lowered his wand.

“Sorry. You startled me.”

“I’ve been yelling your name ever since I came through the door. Didn’t you hear the noise?”

George shrugged and turned back to his work. He appeared to be sorting potions ingredients; small jars and boxes lay in piles on either side of a half-empty whiskey bottle. He bore a striking resemblance to a street person: his robes were wrinkled as if he had slept in them more than once, he had several days’ worth of stubble along his jaw, his greasy hair hung in clumps over his forehead, and he smelled of old alcohol and the scent Mum described as “eau de boy.” Generally achieved by running around under a hot summer sun and rolling in dirt, not selling jokes in a climate-controlled shop.

“Wait—what are you doing here?” 

“Fetching you for dinner,” Charlie said, frowning at the seeds George was scraping into an envelope. Those looked a lot like venomous tentacula…. Charlie renewed his vow never to eat anything from the— from George. 

George looked up, startled. “It’s Friday already?”

“Yeah, it’s Friday. Nearly seven. You forgot to close.”

George shrugged again. “No one ever comes in, anyway.”

The frisson of unease Charlie had been repressing since he saw pygmy puffs disguised as Easter eggs—in the middle of _June_ —was becoming impossible to ignore.

“Where’s Verity?”

“She’s off on Fridays.”

“Have you even—“ Charlie broke off at the glare delivered through bloodshot, shadowed eyes. Fine. He wouldn’t nag, but no way was he taking George home like this. Charlie steered his brother towards the back stairs, yanking the envelope of illegal seeds out of his hand. “Shower. Now,” he ordered.

“Piss off,” George said irritably, shaking loose. “I can walk.”

“Step it up, then,” Charlie said. “We’re going to be late.” 

He braced himself as George opened the door to the flat, but it wasn’t too bad. Somewhat cluttered, yeah, with a wad of blankets at one end of the sofa and food-encrusted dishes stacked in the sink, but all the rubbish appeared to be in the bin (which needed emptying, due to both its fullness and the stench), and there was no food sitting out. Actually, Charlie realized as he approached the bin to vanish its contents, there was no indication that George had been eating here. The two bowls and single plate in the sink were at least a week old, judging from the layer of scum, and all Charlie saw in the trash were glass bottles, a fistful of tissues, and several empty packages of jelly slugs. Not even an empty takeaway box.

The water came on with a squeal of the pipes. He gave George sixty seconds to get behind the curtain and opened the bathroom door.

“What are you looking for?” George asked, unperturbed by the invasion. Six boys plus one bathroom equaled zero privacy.

“Potions,” Charlie said, closing the nearly-empty medicine cabinet. “Got any?”

“Just what Mum gave us when we moved out, and most of it’s gone.”

Charlie bent over to examine the cupboard under the sink, turning sideways when he bumped the wall behind him. One bottle of Mrs. Scower’s Magical Mess Remover (he didn’t need to lift it to know it was hardly used), three rolls of toilet paper, an old pair of trainers, a violently pink jar labeled “Guaranteed Ten-Second Pimple Vanisher,” a handful of tampons ( _interesting_ ), an unlabeled tub Charlie recognized instantly as burn paste, and—yes! A bottle of Pepper-Up Potion. He held it up to the light. One, maybe two good doses left.

“I found some Pepper-Up,” Charlie said, setting it on the sink beside George’s toothbrush. “Take it _before_ you brush your teeth, all right?”

“Yes, Mum.”

Just for that, Charlie reached over and flushed the toilet, smiling as George’s yell bounced around the tiny room. 

()()()()

“It’s about time,” Bill complained loudly when Charlie stepped out of the Floo. “Mum wouldn’t let us start without you.”

“Blame it on Mr. Businessman here,” Charlie said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder as George appeared in the green flames behind him. “He was still working when I arrived.” He inhaled deeply and scanned the table appreciatively—all his favorites from vegetable to dessert. “It looks great, Mum,” he said, wrapping an arm around her and bussing her cheek. “Cheers.”

“You’re very welcome, Charlie. Wash your hands, now—you too, George.” She smiled, and Charlie felt the knot that had formed upon seeing George loosen, just a bit. He had been right; it did help for him to be home.

Bill joined him at the sink, his voice drowned out by George and the others pulling out chairs around the table. “I take it he didn’t look like this when you got there.”

“Not hardly,” Charlie muttered. “He didn’t even know it was Friday.”

Bill had no time to do more than raise his eyebrows before Dad called them to the table. Ginny and Fleur had saved them seats side-by-side, forcing the others to go around, and the oldest boys continued their conversation as the meal began.

“Drinking all day from the looks of it,” Charlie said quietly, angling away from his sister. “I gave him a dose of Pepper-Up, but—“

“It’s no hangover cure.”

“No.” Charlie took three pork chops off the platter and passed it to Bill, then accepted a bowl of carrots from Ginny. “And he’s not paying proper attention to the shop, either. I don’t think he’d even noticed it was Verity’s day off, and he hasn’t changed the window displays since Easter.”

“Percy and I both have offered to help, but he won’t hear of it,” Bill said. “I wish Ron were here.”

“Do you think … maybe Ginny….”

But Bill shook his head. “No. If she sees the state of his flat, she’ll feel obliged to clean and cook for him, and she has her hands full here, even if Mum is doing better. Not to mention it’s not her responsibility. I assume the flat is trashed?”

Charlie buttered his roll. “No more than yours or mine in our early bachelor years. But—“

“What?”

“He’s not eating.”

Bill snorted and looked down the table to where George was listening to Dad’s description of the fake talismans still coming into his department. George’s weight loss was more obvious in the Muggle clothes he’d changed into. “That’s no surprise.”

“Any ideas?”

“I don’t know, Charlie. His whole world’s been turned upside down—he lost his brother, his best friend, his business partner … everything’s different at home and at work … I just don’t know.”


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

“Grab the other basket, will you?” Dad said, coming out of the scullery with a load of clean laundry.

Bill had come into the kitchen to get another drink, but he set his glass by the sink and obeyed, joining his father at the table.

“How’s work?” Dad asked.

“Good, actually,” Bill said, taking a towel off the top and folding it in half. “Back to curse breaking, clearing homes of predominant Muggle-borns. Hermione’s house was a mess—it’s a good thing her parents went abroad.”

“You’ve got it ready for them?”

“Yes. Well, there’s no magic about the house, at least. Bit musty, having been shut up for a year.”

“I can imagine. How’s Fleur?” Dad set several girly things to the side.

Bill gave him a sidelong look. “She’s fine. Why?”

“Just checking in,” he said mildly.

“We’re doing well. Enjoying the garden and the sea now that we can walk outside without worrying about being murdered.” He hesitated, lining up the edges of a washcloth. “I still like to keep her in sight, though.”

“That’s understandable. I think it will take all of us some time to get used to being safe. It did the last time.”

“Mum seems to be doing better.”

Dad smiled. “She likes having you all here.”

“I’m glad Charlie’s home.”

“And Percy.”

“Yes, of course. I didn’t mean— I meant, Percy’s been here for weeks, but Charlie went back to the Reserve and—“

“It wouldn’t kill you two to include him.” Dad looked up from matching socks to give Bill a reproachful look. “He’s not a child anymore.”

“I know that!” That came out more defensively than he meant it to.

“You two have been getting along so well, he’s been to Shell Cottage, you’ve been tutoring together, but then Charlie comes home and you can’t spare Percy a second glance.”

Bill opened his mouth, then closed it, realizing there was probably some truth in that observation. “It’s not that, it’s just Percy lives here, doesn’t he? I can see him whenever I want.”

“Do you ever think about why Percy left?”

“What?”

Dad set Ginny’s socks with her underthings and looked Bill straight in the face. “I said, do you ever think about why Percy left?”

“I—well—it doesn’t really matter now, does it? He came back and that’s what’s important.”

“I disagree,” Dad said, pushing his glasses up with one finger, the same way Perce did. “I think Percy felt overlooked by us, unappreciated, and that’s part of the reason he was so eager for the approval of others.”

“That’s no excuse—“ Bill began, but stopped when Dad held up a hand.

“I think we have a responsibility to remedy that. You and Charlie have always been close. I respect that, and I’m sure Percy does too. But you’ve been making an effort to repair your relationship with him, and it’s not fair to drop that just because Charlie’s home for a couple of days. Your mother and I have always thought of all three of you as our oldest, our leaders for the younger kids.” He sighed. “Who aren’t really kids anymore, either. Just include him once in a while, okay?”

Bill nodded, concentrating on stacking towels. It had been a long time since Dad had reprimanded him for anything, and it made him uncomfortable.

“How’s George? And don’t lie to me,” he added.

Bill gaped. How had he known—

“Ask Charlie,” he said, snapping a dishtowel straight with more force than strictly necessary. “He’s the one who went to pick him up.”

“Yes, but the two of you sat and whispered with your heads together through the entire meal. Your wife and your sister saved you seats, and knowing the two of you, they even saved them side-by-side. And both of you promptly sat down and turned your backs to them without a word.”

Bill felt heat climbing up his neck, picturing the scene. That had been rude.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“I’m not the one you should apologize to.”

“Are you going to give Charlie this speech too?” Bill said, somewhat resentfully.

Dad transferred the folded clothes back into the basket to be carried upstairs. “So, it’s okay to be the oldest when it means taking charge of the others, but not when you have to answer for your own behavior.”

Bill scowled. “That’s not—“

“You don’t have to do it by yourself, Bill,” Dad said quietly. “You’ve always been good to take care of your siblings, to be there for each of them whenever you could, but _everyone_ needs help this summer. Talk to me—tell me what’s going on.”

Bill sighed and shoved the linens aside, resting his elbows on the table and scrubbing his face with both hands. “Charlie feels guilty about not coming home more often and not making it to the Battle in time to see Fred before he died. Percy is walking on eggshells trying to please everyone, George is—“ His voice cracked and he swallowed. “George is doing nothing but drinking, Ronnie is on the other side of the world, and Gin-Gin—“ He sighed again. “She’s pissed at me for keeping her away from Harry.”

“And you?”

“These kids I’m tutoring—they’re scared, Dad. It’s like they’re scared to be at Hogwarts, they’re scared of the castle. Sometimes I think they’re even afraid of magic itself, and when I think what it was like when I was there—what an absolutely amazing, wonderful, incredible time I had at Hogwarts, it just—it makes me want to cry. And Ginny. I’m getting really worried about what she experienced last year.”

“But I asked about _you_. How are you doing, son?”

Bill swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I’m doing okay. It’s—it’s better to be out of the bank. It helps to be undoing the Death Eaters’ work, you know?”

Dad gave the empty laundry basket a small shove in Bill’s direction, and he began loading it with folded towels, grateful for the distraction.

“Are you talking to Fleur? Sharing this with her?”

“I don’t want to burden her.”

“Don’t underestimate the strength of your wife,” Dad said firmly. “Or her wisdom. Any burden, no matter how heavy, is lighter when shared. That’s important, Bill—a strong marriage requires honesty and trust, especially in difficult times.”

He nodded.

Ginny’s laughter floated through the door, quickly followed by her and Harry. “Oh, hi, Daddy. We’re going for a fly.”

Harry had paused, but Ginny kept walking, pulling him towards the back door.

“Don’t stay out too late.”

“We won’t, Mr. Weasley.” Harry closed the door behind them.

Bill raised his eyebrows. “That’s it?”

“What’s it?”

“You do know they’re doing more than flying, right?”

Dad gave him a look that had heat climbing up Bill’s neck again.

“I’m just saying—“

“What, exactly?” 

He seemed amused. Bill didn’t understand. What the hell was funny about your sixteen-year-old daughter and her boyfriend alone, together, in the dark? By themselves?

“You’re okay with this?”

“With Harry? He’s a perfectly nice boy. Very polite.”

“It’s not about Harry,” Bill said impatiently. “It’s about Ginny—she’s only sixteen!”

“As I recall, spending time with your boyfriend is a normal sixteen-year-old activity.”

“Don’t you care that the two of them are spending more time alone than—well, than married people! They’re virtually home alone all day.”

“Yes, it would be a bit pointless to try to keep them apart after all that, don’t you think?”

“They were fighting just last night!”

“Well, then, it’s nice that they’ve made up.”

Bill glared at his dad, whose eyes were twinkling. “You and Charlie and Ron, you’re all so nonchalant about this whole thing, but—“

“What’s really eating you, Bill?”

“I just think she’s too young,” he said sullenly. “Too young and way too serious.”

“Just because you didn’t meet the love of your life at sixteen doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.”

Bill jerked his head up, startled. He knew his parents’ story—of course he did. Mum had caught Dad’s eye at a Quidditch party during his fifth year. She had scored eight goals, and he had spoken with her for a few moments, just long enough to congratulate her, and she had smiled and blushed but then been engulfed by her friends. Mum had been pretty and popular ( _just like Ginny_ ), and it had taken his dad months to work up the courage to ask her to go to Hogsmeade in the spring. They had “the most wonderful day,” according to his mother, and wrote over the summer, and when they met on the Hogwarts Express the next September, “that was it for us.” Upon which declaration his parents always smiled sappily at each other before sharing a kiss.

“We were sixteen and fifteen, just like Harry and Ginny when they got together. I have many faults, Bill, but I do try not to be a hypocrite. I suggest you do the same.”

Bill sighed. “It would help if I didn’t keep seeing her when she was either crying or pissed off,” he said. “Or both.”

“Like just now?” Dad said. “And dinner tonight? And last Sunday, playing chess? What about how they handled it when they made the papers a few weeks ago after they went to the Leaky Cauldron together? Last year, when we brought Harry to the Burrow—“

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Maybe you expected me to say she’s too young to know her own heart? That she got swept up in the adventure and excitement, but when it wears off she’ll change her mind. Or that Harry’s confusing infatuation and attraction with real love, that he’s only interested in her for her beauty. That what he likes best about her is she’s beyond his reach.”

Bill clenched his jaw. Even two years later, Monsieur Delacour’s words to him still stung.

“We underestimated Fleur, son. But you’ve known your sister her whole life. Don’t do her the same disservice.”

()()()()

Harry stared at Ginny as she approached the orchard. She wasn’t carrying a broomstick, and she was completely overdressed: denims, a long-sleeved tee, socks, and trainers. Even her hair was down and loose around her shoulders. His shoulders slumped. She didn’t want to play.

But she was here, and she was smiling, and she walked right up to him and kissed him.

“You don’t want to fly?”

“Not tonight. Conjure us a blanket, would you?”

He concentrated and managed to produce one with alternating stripes that were actually even. 

“Not bad, Potter.” She sat in the middle, leaned back on her hands, shook her hair behind her, and smiled up at him. 

She was definitely up to something; what, Harry wasn’t sure.

“How were the trials?” 

Harry sat down facing her and grimaced. “Hours of boredom for five minutes of testimony.” 

“Do they still have you corroborating Death Eaters?”

He nodded. His testimony regarding the wizards present in Little Hangleton on the night of the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament was being used to establish their connection to Voldemort. Ginny expected to be summoned to testify against the Carrows and possibly Umbridge, but she hadn’t heard anything yet. The Ministry seemed to be taking a somewhat chronological approach.

“Do you have any scars from that night?”

Harry remembered being tied to the gravestone, Pettigrew’s knife in his forearm, and the helplessness and guilt he had felt in being forced to aid in Voldemort’s rebirth. He nodded.

“Why don’t you tell me about that?”

So, he told her about the Triwizard cup and the graveyard in Little Hangleton. Ginny was a good listener. She didn’t interrupt or comment; she wasn’t unmoved by his story, but she didn’t gasp and wince and make him feel bad for scaring her, either. 

“It was my fault,” he said quietly. “Cedric—if I had just taken the Cup like he wanted, if I hadn’t insisted that we do it together, he would still be alive.”

“That’s true.”

Harry looked up in surprise. He had expected her to deny it, to say it wasn’t his fault.

“But you didn’t kill him, Harry. Cedric chose to take the Cup with you, Voldemort gave an order, and Pettigrew chose to obey him. The end result is not your responsibility.”

He frowned at her. “But—“

“You can’t have it both ways. If it’s your fault Cedric died, then it’s my fault Mrs. Norris, Justin, Nick, Colin, Hermione, and Penny were Petrified. Because if I had never written in that diary, or if I had showed it to Mum and Dad when Tom wrote back to me while I was still at home, none of that would have ever happened.”

She met his gaze evenly, her brown eyes showing neither guilt nor doubt.

“But—“

She raised one eyebrow. 

Harry sighed and flopped on his back beside her. “It _feels_ like it’s my fault.”

Ginny curled up against him. “Yeah, I know. It does.”

He looked down at the top of her head, just under his chin, comforted by the realization she _did_ understand. She didn’t want Harry blaming himself for the evil and tragedy Voldemort had caused, but she knew what it felt like to have your actions be part of the chain that led to someone else’s suffering, and unlike Hermione and even Ron, she didn’t pretend his actions had no consequences. She knew what it was like to be manipulated by Voldemort, to have him inside your head, and she wasn’t afraid to face the aftereffects of that. Harry tightened his arms around her and changed the subject.

“I like your hair down.” He threaded his hand through the hair at her nape, enjoying the feel of it between his fingers, the way it spread out over his chest, her back, the arm he had wrapped around her. 

“Mmm.”

“You don’t?”

She shrugged one shoulder, obviously reluctant to move. “It gets in the way.”

“Well, I like it. It’s so soft. And it smells good.”

“Thanks,” she murmured.

It was several minutes before he broke the silence. “So….”

Ginny said nothing. Harry shifted to look at her, letting his gaze slide over her completely-clothed body before returning to her face. This game had been her idea, after all. He had been playing it safe, but maybe she wanted to raise the stakes. And since she hadn’t pressed him about what he, Ron, and Hermione were doing last year, not even after their argument last week….

“You know what they say,” he said. “Never dare a Gryffindor—“

“Unless you want to be beat.” 

Harry let his gaze travel downward again, considering. No matter what he asked for, even something innocuous, Ginny had ensured she would have to remove clothing. 

“Your back,” he blurted.

“All right.” She sat up and crossed her hands at her waist, lifting them over her head, and in one coordinated movement her shirt slid down one arm onto the ground. She pulled her hair over one shoulder to expose her back. “Don’t—don’t unhook my bra, okay?“ It was the first time, in all these weeks, that she sounded nervous.

“Okay.” He sat up too, placing a hand on either side of her waist and sliding them upwards. “You don’t have as many freckles here.”

Her shoulders rose and fell, drawing his attention to the clusters of freckles on top of them.

“It doesn’t get as much sun.”

He slid his hands farther up, over the band of her bra, tracing the wing of her shoulder blades, the line of her spine. Ginny shivered. 

“What’s that constellation about the sisters?” Harry asked.

“The Pleiades? The Seven Sisters?”

“Yeah. This sort of looks like them.” He traced one finger between her spine and shoulder blade, then followed it with his mouth. The easternmost star was just below her right shoulder, and Harry trailed kisses across her shoulder, up the exposed side of her neck. She was breathing faster; he could feel her chest expanding under his hands, see her breasts rising with the movement. Ginny turned her head and their lips met. 

Harry reached up, tangling one hand in her hair, tipping her head to deepen the kiss. He leaned over her, his other hand resting on her bare stomach. She turned in his arms, and they were lying down, his arm behind her back, hers locked around his neck, and there was nothing but Ginny and time, sweet time.

()()()()

It was raining. Ginny and Harry had retreated to Ron’s room after dinner (despite the fact that Harry was living here and Ron wasn’t, Ginny still hadn’t heard Harry refer to the room as his). Harry had added all the pillows from Ron’s bed to his camp bed, and it was cozy sitting propped up against the wall with Harry, tucked under the eaves with the sound of the rain drumming on the roof and Arnold rolling around on the desk beside them.

“I miss him,” Ginny sighed, looking at all the Quidditch posters.

“Ron?”

She nodded. “He should have been at school with me last year. I wasn’t supposed to be at school without any brothers until this year, my last year. And then he was just home for a couple of weeks before they left, and by the time they get back, it will be time for me to leave….”

“I’m sure he’ll be back for your birthday.”

“That’s still only three weeks. Maybe they’ll come back in time for yours. That would give us a whole month, at least.” Ginny sighed again, then bumped Harry’s shoulder. “And if you tell him I was moping, I’ll deny everything.”

Harry smiled. “He’s probably having the same conversation with Hermione right now. He talked about you a lot last year. He always does.”

She couldn’t let an opportunity like that slide by. “What else did you talk about last year?”

Harry studied their hands, which were woven together. “Horcruxes.”

Ginny froze for a moment—he was actually telling her something significant.

“What are Horcruxes?”

“It’s very dark magic. Dumbledore didn’t allow any books that talked about them in the library, not even in the Restricted Section. Hermione summoned them from his office after his funeral. A Horcrux is an object that stores part of your soul.”

Ginny frowned. “What, like you break off a piece or something?”

“Exactly. By—“

“Murder,” she guessed. Not hard to do, considering who they were talking about.

“Yes.”

“So, Voldemort had made a Horcrux,” she said slowly. “That’s why he didn’t die in Godric’s Hollow and why he was able to come back. He wasn’t really dead.”

“Yes. But not one Horcrux—several.”

“Several?”

“Dumbledore suspected six: the diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, the snake, and something of Ravenclaw’s or Gryffindor’s.”

“The diary? Riddle’s diary?” Ginny, who was sitting closest to the sloping ceiling thanks to her shorter height, wiggled around until she could see Harry.

He nodded. “Dumbledore said when I handed him the diary and told him what happened in the Chamber of Secrets is when he began to suspect that Voldemort had made a Horcrux. The fact that he had been so casual with the diary, leaving it with Lucius Malfoy, implied he had made more than one. He said the Riddle from the diary sounded like more than just a memory.”

Ginny couldn’t suppress a shiver. Tom had been a hell of a lot more than a memory.

“Dumbledore spent the next few years learning as much about Voldemort’s life as he could, trying to figure out what objects he might have used and where he might have hidden them.”

Ginny hesitated. It had been the only source of tension between them for those perfect weeks in her fifth year, when she had asked what Dumbledore was teaching Harry. “Is that what you were talking about in your meetings? Horcruxes?” 

“Yes. I had destroyed the diary with a Basilisk fang, and Dumbledore found and destroyed a second Horcrux, a ring that had belonged to Voldemort’s maternal grandfather, with the sword of Gryffindor, although I didn’t know it at the time. That he used the sword, I mean.”

“That’s why he left it to you,” Ginny said. “Because it could destroy Horcruxes. Is that part of its magic?”

“No, it’s because I stabbed the Basilisk through the roof of its mouth and the sword became impregnated with Basilisk venom, which is one of the few substances that will destroy a Horcrux. You can’t just break the object. You have to destroy it beyond any magical ability to repair it.”

“How did Neville know to kill the snake?” 

Ginny instantly knew she had stumbled upon something Harry didn’t want to tell her. His whole body went rigid and he looked away, watching Arnold trying to climb onto the windowsill. She said nothing and waited.

“I’ll tell you everything eventually,” Harry said at last. “But I won’t tell you everything tonight.” He looked at her. “Maybe—maybe not even this summer.”

“All right.”

He visibly relaxed. “You’re not mad at me?”

“As long as you don’t get mad at me for asking questions.”

“No, I don’t mind, I just—I just can’t answer them all at once.”

“So, the three of you went out looking for Horcruxes,” she prompted, wanting to get the conversation back on track.

“A bit earlier than we had planned,” Harry said wryly. “We—remember how we ended up at Grimmauld Place after the wedding? Well, the security there was broken after we broke into the Ministry, and we had to go on the run. Hermione had packed the tent we used at the Quidditch World Cup—the one Ron and I stayed in, not the little one you two used—and we Apparated to a different place every day.”

“Then you didn’t know where the Horcruxes were.” Ginny frowned.

“No. It … caused a lot of tension.”

Which was another obviously off-limits topic of conversation. “The diary is obvious, and the ring belonged to his grandfather. What about the rest of the objects, the—“ She wrinkled her forehead, trying to remember. “You said a locket and a cup?”

“Uh-huh. Dumbledore spent years researching Voldemort’s life, interviewing people who had known him in some way, and he collected memories. That’s what we did in our meetings during sixth year, we watched memories of Voldemort in the Pensieve, and Dumbledore talked about what he knew, and then later about what he suspected. Voldemort worked for Borgin & Burkes after he left Hogwarts and through those connections found a witch who had two objects that had belonged to the Founders: Salazar Slytherin’s locket and Helga Hufflepuff’s cup. It’s obvious why he wanted Slytherin’s locket, but Dumbledore thought he might have tried to collect objects from each of the four Founders.”

“That’s why you were looking for something that belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw the night you came back to Hogwarts.”

“Yes.”

“Was it the diadem?” Ginny said. “Was Luna right?”

Harry smiled. “She was. It was hidden in the Room of Requirement, but not like it was for the DA meetings. The Room of Hidden Things, what it transformed into when someone wanted to hide something.”

“But the only Gryffindor relic is the sword.”

“Yeah, he never did get all four.”

“That means you must have—you destroyed most of them the night of the Battle,” Ginny said in surprise.

“The cup, the diadem, and the snake,” Harry confirmed. “Hermione destroyed the cup. We lost the sword of Gryffindor breaking into Gringotts, so Ron had the idea to retrieve Basilisk fangs from the Chamber. He managed to say the word that opens it and had her destroy it.” 

Ginny’s mouth fell open and Harry laughed.

“That was pretty much my reaction too. You’ll have to ask Ron or Hermione about that. They did it without me, when I was with Luna in Ravenclaw Tower.“

Ginny shifted until she was beside Harry again and laid her head on his shoulder. “Merlin, Harry,” she said quietly. “I knew you were looking for Voldemort, but….”

Harry’s hand traced the length of her hair, pulled away from her face but loose down her back. “I know you don’t like to hear it, but I wanted to keep you safe. I didn’t want you to be scared or to have nightmares….”

She kissed his cheek. “Thank you for telling me.”

He nodded. “We should go downstairs.” But he didn’t move.

“We don’t have to. Can’t you do some special privacy charm?”

“Your family is going to remember Ron’s room is up here even if they can’t see it,” Harry said dryly. He stood up and held out his hand. “Come on, I’ll let you beat me at chess.”

Ginny snorted. “Like that’s difficult.”

“It’s sometimes difficult.”

“Not tonight.” Ginny slipped her hand behind his neck, kissed him, and broke it off with a grin. “Last one downstairs is a flobberworm!” she called, and threw open the door.

()()()()

She had made it through the chess game—three of them, in fact—and ice cream with her family, and she didn’t think anyone had noticed anything, not even Harry. But now she was alone, tucked into bed with only Arnold and Crookshanks for company, and she couldn’t stop shaking. 

It had been bad that night last summer when Harry had inadvertently admitted they were planning to kill Voldemort. She hadn’t slept at all that night, fearful she would dream about one of them dying. Fearful her dream would become an omen. She had been terrified the whole time they were gone. Afraid one—or more—of them would end up like Harry’s parents, dead in a confrontation with Voldemort. Or like Neville’s, tortured into insanity. She had feared the war would destroy Harry, destroy all that was good and kind and gentle about him. But this—

Ginny sat up, gasping. _Horcruxes_. Things like the diary, the diary she had lived with for nearly a year, the diary that had a life and voice and power of its own. They hadn’t destroyed most of them until the night of the Battle, so they had lived with them too. One was a locket, and wearing it would have been the simplest way to keep it safe until they figured out how to destroy it. Knowing the three of them, they would have taken turns, which meant all of them— _all of them_ —had walked around with a piece of Voldemort for—months, maybe? She took a deep breath, flaring her nostrils, concentrating on the familiar smells of lavender and home, trying to quell the nausea.

They had broken into the Ministry on the second of September, and then nothing was known about their whereabouts until they showed up at Shell Cottage over Easter holidays. Bill thought they had escaped from Malfoy Manor. There must have been Horcruxes hidden there, or at least they suspected there were. And it would explain why they broke into Gringotts too.

Pieces of Voldemort’s soul—she hadn’t known, not really, hadn’t understood the diary was dangerous, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione would have understood that the Horcruxes were. Would have known exactly what was in the object, exactly what made it powerful and evil. 

Just not how to destroy it.

Ginny reached for Crookshanks, comforting herself with his warmth and softness as he purred under her touch. She could understand, now, why Harry didn’t tell her. Why he had refused to talk about his meetings with Dumbledore, why he had so carefully edited what he had told her about the last year. Because she, more than anyone else he would ever tell, understood what it meant to live with a part of Voldemort. Because he knew it would remind her of that horrible year she had worked so hard to overcome. But despite its horror, Ginny was glad to know. 

Because now there were no more secrets. Regardless of what else had happened last year, the other things Harry had done, nothing could be worse than knowing he had deliberately sought out and lived with pieces of Voldemort’s soul.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

Harry stood just inside Mrs. Tonks’s open front door, Teddy cradled in one arm and Ginny standing at his elbow.

“He’ll need to eat about two—maybe one-thirty if he’s fussy, and be sure to burp him halfway through. I made three bottles, just in case, but you shouldn’t even need the second one because he won’t take that until after he wakes from his nap, and he never wakes before five, and I’ll definitely be home by then, but just in case I’m not, there’s extra bottles under a cooling charm on the worktop. And don’t forget to lay him with his feet towards the door when you put him down, otherwise in the afternoon the sun shines in his face and he likes to watch the fan in the lounge if he gets fussy and—“

“We’ll be fine, Mrs. Tonks,” Ginny said, smiling brightly. “Have a good time.”

“I’m just going to get my hair done and then stop at the market for a—“

“Take your time,” Ginny said, slowly closing the door and forcing Mrs. Tonks outside. “He’s a good baby. We’ll be fine.”

Mrs. Tonks smiled at her grandson and nodded. “Yes. Well. Thank you again.”

Ginny closed the door completely, and there was the _crack_ of Disapparition. 

Harry turned to Ginny, feeling slightly panicked. “Did you get all that?”

She shrugged, turning back to the lounge. “Feed him when he’s hungry, keep him dry, and don’t drop him.”

Harry stared. “I’m pretty sure it was a little more complicated than that.”

“I asked George. He’s good at condensing things to the basics.”

“When did you do that?”

“I Floo-called him this morning.” Ginny sat on the sofa and tucked her feet up.

“How is he?” He should go to Diagon Alley, visit the shop. He hadn’t spent hardly any time with George this summer.

“He answered the Floo,” she said simply. “I wish we could get out without you being accosted all the time.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not that, it’s just—it would be nice to do something, don’t you think? Maybe meet up with Luna or Neville?”

“What, I’m boring you now?” Harry teased, knowing it wasn’t true.

Ginny picked up a rattle from a basket of toys beside the sofa and shook it in front of Teddy. He grabbed it at once and began gnawing on the end.

“Do you think that’s okay?” Harry said anxiously, watching the baby’s cheek puff out as he shoved the toy farther into his mouth.

“Well, it’s too big for him to swallow,” she pointed out. 

Teddy pulled the rattle from his mouth with a _pop_ and grinned. He waved his arm, and his turquoise hair turned orange when the rattle’s clackety sound filled the room.

“He’s sooo cute,” Ginny cooed, leaning over him.

“He’s all right,” Harry conceded, ignoring her smirk. This was their third visit in less than two weeks, even if it was the first time Mrs. Tonks had left Teddy with anyone. “You mentioned Luna—have you heard from her?”

“I got a letter a few days ago. She said they’ve repaired enough of the house that they’re living in it now. Sounds like the Death Eaters really did a number on it.”

Harry caught Teddy’s free hand with one finger, concentrating on the tiny digits wrapped around his own. “Yeah, well, that was sort of my fault.”

“Your fault?” Ginny asked, sitting up and turning away from the baby. “How is that possible?”

“We, uh—we went to visit after Christmas.”

“You went to see Luna? Whatever for?”

“Not Luna, although we thought we would see her, of course. We wanted to talk to Mr. Lovegood. Do you remember the necklace he had on at Bill and Fleur’s wedding? Sort of like a triangle with an eye?”

Judging from the look she was giving him, apparently not.

Harry shifted Teddy into a more comfortable position. “Well, it caught my eye and Krum’s too. He said it was Grindelwald’s symbol, a—“

“But that’s crazy,” Ginny interrupted. “Even if it was, Luna and her dad would never be involved in dark magic.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Harry said. “Then it showed up in Hermione’s copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ , and in a letter Dumbledore wrote that was published in Rita Skeeter’s book.”

Ginny snorted. “Don’t tell me you read that rubbish.”

Harry nodded, trying to think how to explain. “I wanted to know the truth.”

“By reading Rita Skeeter?” Ginny said incredulously. “Come on, Harry, the woman writes anything but.”

“I know, but … I heard some disturbing stuff at the wedding. From your aunt Muriel, actually.”

Ginny snorted again. “Auntie Muriel is a spiteful old bat who stirs up trouble just to watch people suffer. It was _dreadful_ living with her.”

“Well, Hermione kept telling me that I knew Dumbledore and I should trust him, but it just felt like there were some things I couldn’t understand why he hadn’t told me.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Like where the Horcruxes were?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think he knew that. But he never told me how to destroy them, and I never thought to ask. I assumed we had time, you know, but Dumbledore—Dumbledore knew he was dying, knew his time was short, and he didn’t tell me what was possibly the most crucial piece of information we needed to succeed. And he was from Godric’s Hollow too. His family, his parents and his little sister, are buried there.”

Her mouth fell open slightly. “Wow, Harry, that’s—you read that in Skeeter’s book?”

“No. Muriel told me.”

Ginny groaned in sympathy. “Wait a minute, I’m confused. What does this have to do with visiting Mr. Lovegood?”

“Just that the symbol kept popping up, and Hermione thought it was important. We didn’t have any leads on the next Horcrux, and Mr. Lovegood was the only person associated with the symbol that we had access to, so we went to see him.” He shrugged. “It was a long shot, really.”

“So, was it really Grindelwald’s sign?”

“Well, yes and no. It’s the sign of the Deathly Hallows and Grindelwald adopted it, but he didn’t invent it and there’s nothing inherently dark about it. Not like the Horcruxes.”

“Harry….”

“I know, it’s confusing. Here, can you—“ Teddy had thrown the rattle away and was squirming uncomfortably. 

They were still clumsy when passing him back and forth, and Teddy’s flailing didn’t help matters. 

“Wait, I’ve got it—“ Harry grabbed for his blanket as Teddy half-kicked and Ginny half-pulled it off, more focused on minding his still-floppy head. 

“Never mind, just—ugh, he’s wet. No wonder you were wiggly, huh?”

“Okay, you change him, and I’ll get his bottle,” Harry said.

“Oh, that’s right—leave me with the dirty job.” But she didn’t look like she minded, bouncing the baby in front of her.

“Just don’t let him wee on you this time.”

“That was not my fault,” Ginny said, holding Teddy awkwardly with one arm around his chest while she tried to spread the blanket on the floor with her other hand. 

“Here,” Harry said, returning with the bottle and setting it on a side table before smoothing the blanket with a flick. “I’ll get him.” 

“No, you sit and tell me about this symbol thing and how you got my oldest friend’s house destroyed so we can’t Floo-call each other anymore.”

Harry stared at her—really, as if he didn’t feel badly enough about it!—but she shot him a quick smile over her shoulder and he relaxed. Ginny didn’t take anything, even the serious things, too seriously. 

()()()()

Ginny shook her head clear as she and Harry landed in the Burrow’s garden. She really preferred traveling by Floo-powder, but Mum and maybe Dad would be in the kitchen. Since Ginny wanted a few minutes to process what Harry had told her, she had asked Harry to Apparate them back.

“Well, that’s just—“ She pulled Harry towards the stone bench and sat down. “Well, of _course_ Mr. Lovegood was desperate to get Luna back, but to trick the three of you like that, and then they came after him anyway—it’s just awful.” She remembered the placid look on Luna’s face, the way she had stood still in her captor’s embrace on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, relieved they had come for her and not her father. Luna was very loyal and about the least selfish person Ginny had ever met; she suspected this betrayal of Harry was part of the unspoken tension between Luna and her dad. “I saw her kidnapping. I tried to stop it—me and Neville and Mrs. Longbottom, but….“

Harry squeezed her shoulders. “We didn’t know,” he said. “We never would have gone if we knew Luna had been taken, but we were completely cut off. We had no idea what was happening in the outside world.”

Ginny sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder, not wanting to remember any more. “‘The Tale of the Three Brothers’? Really?”

“Really.”

“So, your Invisibility Cloak….” Was perfect. Old and perfect, and she had seen both of Moody’s cloaks at one time or another. Neither was as good as Harry’s, you could tell that at a glance. And even Moody’s cloaks were rare.

“Is one of the Hallows, yes.”

“Does that mean—“

“Ginny? Harry, is that you? Come inside, please. You have a letter.”

It was her mother, calling from the open back door.

“What is it, Mrs. Weasley?”

“On the table, dear.”

Harry picked up the official-looking envelope and frowned. “It can’t be the Improper Use of Magic Office. I’m of age!”

He ripped the letter open and read aloud:

_Dear Mister Potter:_

_It has come to our attention that you have been illegally Apparating without a license for some months, most recently in the company of Miss Ginevra Weasley at four-oh-two p.m. this afternoon. Given the recent political climate, no action will be taken for past offenses, but we must insist this negligence be corrected at once. You may present yourself to the Apparition Test Center for examination at any time between the hours of eight a.m. and four-thirty p.m. Monday through Friday. Thank you for your cooperation in this important matter._

_Sincerely yours,_  
 _Valerie Twycross_  
 _Apparition Test Center_  
 _Department of Magical Transportation_  
 _Ministry of Magic_

 _P.S. An active Apparition license in good standing is a requirement for acceptance to the Auror Academy._

“Oh, for Godric’s sake!” Harry exploded, tossing the letter back on the table.

“My Trace!” Ginny said. “I’m sorry, Harry, I forgot.”

“Goodness, I didn’t even think,” Mum said. “Of course you can’t go Apparating all over the country without a license. You’ll have to go straight down there first thing tomorrow morning, Harry.”

“I’ve been Apparating all over Great Britain for a bloody year,” Harry said crossly. “‘Recent political climate,’ indeed.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Dad said, handing Harry a knife and steering him towards a pile of salad-makings. “You do need a proper license.”

“There was no need to make it sound like I’m a criminal. They could have asked nicely.”

“I think that was nicely, for them,” Ginny said, gathering plates to lay the table. “Besides, you’re at the Ministry several times a week for the trials. You can just drop in and that will be one less thing to do for your Auror application when Ron gets back.”

“How is Teddy?” Mrs. Weasley asked, pulling bread from the oven.

“He’s great,” Harry said, launching into a recap of their afternoon.

Ginny nudged her mother as she pulled cutlery from the drawer. Asking about Teddy had been a very kind way to distract Harry, and the fact that her mother was not just up and about but also acting more like herself made Ginny happy indeed. Mum returned her smile, and Ginny accepted the bread tray, content to listen to her parents converse with Harry as she laid the table for four.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

“Merlin, Ginny, can’t you knock?” Harry jerked the covers up under his chin and clutched them there, hoping she hadn’t noticed what he was doing when she walked in. Accustomed to the privacy of no roommate and a daily lie-in, he wasn’t exactly thrilled to have her in his room, even if he had been fantasizing about it.

“Mum’s gone shopping, and she won’t be back until lunch,” Ginny announced, closing the door and locking it. “We have the whole house to ourselves.” She sat on Harry’s camp bed and immediately lay down beside him. She would have lain on top of him, but he jerked to the side.

“What?”

“You’re in my bed.”

“So?” She turned on her side facing him, her head propped on her elbow. The front of her shirt gaped open, and Harry could see the line of her cleavage.

 _What would your mother say_ didn’t seem the proper response, but he was having a hard time thinking clearly.

“We’ve lain like this before in the orchard,” Ginny said simply. “Closer, actually.” 

Yes, they had, but this was different. The orchard had expectations, boundaries, limits. This was new, her strolling into his room and climbing into his bed like a fantasy come to life. Harry shifted until his back was pressed against the wall. Ginny wiggled a little closer. An immovable object and an irresistible force….

“Harry?” She was really close now, so close that her face was in focus even without his glasses, and he could feel her hair on his shoulders. “Tell me to leave,” she whispered.

Harry opened his mouth to obey, but his voice wouldn’t cooperate. He raised his head and kissed her, and for a few moments only their lips touched, connecting and separating in a game of cat and mouse. Then he caught her, rolling on top and pinning her with his weight. Ginny wrapped her arms round his back. He could feel her hands against his skin, sliding up and down in rhythm with their kiss, and half-naked as he was, it was like starting where they usually finished. But she was wrapped in covers, tangled where she had been on top of the blanket and he underneath, and Harry freed one hand to shove it down. He broke their kiss to nuzzle her neck, her ear, that one cluster of freckles just under her jaw. He fumbled under his pillow for his wand, closed his eyes, and concentrated.

She gasped as the magic washed over her. Harry knew the nonverbal spell had worked because his stomach was now touching bare skin. He opened his eyes and was half disappointed, half relieved; she was still wearing her bra and knickers. Kissing her again, he let one hand wander from her waist up over her breast. She moaned at his touch and slid her hands lower, spread her thighs, and Harry didn’t even think about the intimacy of the position as he settled against her because the pressure was the most blissful torture … or torturous bliss … and then several things happened in quick succession.

Ginny flung out an arm, knocked the clock off the desk, and it landed with a ringing clatter. Crookshanks yowled and streaked towards the door. Harry looked up from Ginny for the first time since she had walked into the room and was suddenly reminded where he was. He rolled and heaved, and Ginny tumbled off the edge of the bed.

She stared at him for one long moment, sitting on the floor in her underthings, hair tousled, mouth agape. Then her entire face reddened in one instant flush, and Harry saw the emotions flash across her face: hurt, confusion, embarrassment. He sat up, but Ginny had already turned her back, gathering her clothes from the floor and wrestling with the door lock. She tripped over Crookshanks as he bolted out ahead of her and slammed the door shut. Ron’s Cannons posters fluttered in the artificial breeze.

()()()()

Ginny’s door was firmly closed when Harry went downstairs to take a shower and again when he came out. She did not reappear all morning, and Harry was left to wander the empty Burrow alone, thinking about how different things could have been if he hadn’t panicked. Or if she had chosen some other time, when he wasn’t already wound up and not thinking clearly. If they’d been outside, in their sanctuary in the orchard or hidden under the willow tree, he wouldn’t have been surrounded by Ron’s things, wouldn’t have been reminded that her brother was his best mate.

He knew it was stupid, irrational, that Ron knew Harry was interested in Ginny _that way_ , that Ron and Hermione were probably snogging in their underwear and maybe more by now, but it just felt … wrong. Not being with Ginny, never her, but Harry couldn’t shake the sensation he was betraying his best mate by groping his sister in his childhood bedroom. And her parents … the Weasleys had always been good to Harry, had opened their home to him and treated him as a member of their family for years. Shagging their daughter just because they weren’t home seemed a poor way to repay their hospitality.

But it was torture to sit here by the front window and remember her lying beside him, her touch low on his back, the way she tilted her head when he kissed her neck, her heart racing beneath his lips, the curve of her breast in his palm…. If he hadn’t panicked, he could be kissing her right now, her legs on either side of his, her hips—

Harry swore and took the stairs two at a time, just for something to do. 

()()()()

Harry stood in front of Ginny’s closed bedroom door, trying to count to twenty-eight. The last time Ginny had shut herself in her room had been when she was on her period, the day Charlie left at the end of May. That meant the next one would have been around the end of June, and although he remembered cuddling in the sitting room one night instead of going for a fly, he couldn’t remember when that was. Not a month ago, surely. Had it been a fortnight yet? What day was today, anyway? He knew he had hurt her feelings, but it wasn’t like her to pout all day. It wasn’t like her to pout at all. Harry decided to take his chances and knocked on the door.

Ginny opened it.

“Do you want some lunch?”

She studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

He let her precede him down the stairs, more confused than ever. Had she just been waiting for him to ask?

“Where’s Mum?” Ginny said as she gathered sandwich makings.

“She went to take a nap after lunch.”

“You’ve already eaten?” 

“I ate with her. I thought you wanted me to leave you alone.”

She tossed a knife in the sink and it clattered loudly, echoing her frustration. “Yeah, Harry, that’s why I came up to your room, because I wanted to be left alone.” 

“Well, you had your door shut, and I haven’t seen you all morning.”

“You could have knocked.”

“The last time I did that you yelled at me.”

She took a handful of crisps and folded the bag closed before replying. “I did. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry muttered.

“Come on, let’s go outside. It’s nice today.”

Harry followed her out the door and across the garden to the large willow tree by the pond. They ducked between its branches, which reached to within a few inches of the ground, and sat down in the shade.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to walk on eggshells around me.” She took a large bite of her cheese and pickle sandwich.

“I—well, I know I hurt your feelings, but I expected you to yell at me, not hide.”

“I wasn’t hiding. You made it perfectly clear you didn’t want to be with me this morning, so—“

“You were in my bed!”

“So? I’m you’re girlfriend, aren’t I?”

“Of course you are, but you can’t just—“ He took a deep breath. “Look, Ginny, I’m not sure you realize—“

“Yes, I do. I’m not a baby, and you’re not my first boyfriend, remember? I knew exactly what you would think when I crawled into your bed—or at least I thought I did. I certainly didn’t expect you to charm my clothes off and then throw me in the floor!”

“You don’t understand how much I have to lose!”

Ginny blinked, completely taken aback by Harry’s vehemence. He stood up and walked a few feet away, running both hands through his hair. She remained seated, waiting.

“Your family … is my only family,” Harry said hoarsely. “My parents, Sirius, even Remus—they’re all dead. I don’t have anyone else. Ron—“ His voice cracked. “Ron is— _more_ than my best mate. George and I have been friends since first year, since we started playing Quidditch together. He has always been there for me. He lost an ear for me.”

“Harry—“

“You don’t understand. You treat it like it’s some big joke, all your brothers and their baby sister, but they would eviscerate anyone who hurt you. For Godric’s sake, Ginny, your mother _murdered_ to protect you. If I screw this up, I lose everything. _Everything_ , do you understand?”

Ginny stood on shaking legs. “Ron wouldn’t—“

“Last year, on my birthday, who did he come after? Did he yell at you for pulling me into your room? No, he blamed me for messing you around. And it was my responsibility, my job to stay away from you and keep you safe.”

Not this again. “Now wait one minute—“

“No, you wait.” Harry backed her against the tree trunk and stood right in front of her, glaring down at her with his hands on either side, blocking her in. “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to fight with your family, and it wouldn’t change anything, anyway. You are beautiful and fiery and full of life and I—“ He swallowed. “You mean so much to me, but I can’t—“ His voice cracked again, and he dropped one hand, turning away from her. “I can’t risk losing everything. You, and the only family I’ve really known, and my best mate, and Hermione wouldn’t be very happy with me either, and—“

Ginny framed his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “You’re not going to lose everything. You’re not going to lose _anything_ , I promise. We’ll love you even when you mess up. That’s what family does. That’s what love is.”

Harry leaned his forehead against hers, dropping his hands to rest on her waist. “I’m sorry.”

“Coming on to me is not going to screw this up, Harry.”

He gave her a doubtful look. 

“What was it Ron was upset about last summer, that he thought you were messing me around?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you?”

He raised his head, startled. “No! I told you, I really care about you.”

“Then everything’s okay, isn’t it? Because I care about you too, and I want to be with you.” _I love you, Harry_. “My brothers—my family—that’s what they care about. If they see that we care about each other, they’ll leave you alone. Well, alive, at least.” She bumped his shoulder gently with one fist.

He smiled at her teasing. “So, this morning….”

“Mm-hmm?”

“You think maybe we could, er, repeat that somewhere else?”

“You really think it matters to Ron where we do stuff?”

“I can’t explain it,” he said defensively. 

“Hmm.” Ginny laid her head on his shoulder. “Well, I have a room. Without any roommates _or_ brothers.”

He hesitated, but at least this time he looked tempted. Ginny focused her attention on her hand in his.

“Just because we’re not doing … everything … doesn’t mean we can’t do some things,” she said delicately.

“Oh, now you tell me.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been trying to tell you all summer, prat.”

“Yeah?” Harry caught a strand of her hair and twisted it around his fingers. “Does this mean I can count your freckles without telling you a story first?”

“Maybe.” She was trying to be coy, but he was so close…. “If you ask nicely.”

“Like this?” 

His breath was a whisper on her lips, his tongue slid between them, and they were kissing again. Slow, leisurely kissing, the kind that made Ginny feel as if Harry intended to explore every inch of her, and she let him lay her back on the grass, her half-eaten lunch forgotten on the ground beside them.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

“Charlie? Can I talk to you?”

Charlie squinted into the sunlight. Ginny stood at the corner of the chicken coop.

“Where’s Harry?”

“Asleep.”

“Hold that,” he said, pointing to the end of the chicken wire. He had been trying to hold it in place against the new fence stakes with a sticking spell, but it wasn’t working very well.

She knelt and wrapped one small hand around the post, and he picked up a few nails to secure it.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I wanted to talk about Tonks,” she said quietly.

Charlie paused, hammer poised over a nail, then began pounding it in. “What about her?”

“Remember when we were all up on the roof the night before Ron and Hermione left, and you wondered if she had told me any stories about you or Bill?”

He frowned. He’d had a lot to drink that night. “Vaguely.”

“Well, she said—she said you were her first. That you were each other’s firsts, actually.”

Tonks had talked with his little sister about sex? Ginny had been … only thirteen that summer! He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She had both hands wrapped around the stake now and focused on it with unnecessary vigilance. Oh, what the hell. Like he could stop her, anyway.

“We were.” He had no regrets, but what had Tonks thought? Two nails later, he asked. 

Ginny grinned. “She said it was a shame I was related to you, and then she teased Hermione about Ron.”

He smiled and moved a few feet away, stretching out the chicken wire. Yeah, that sounded like her.

“I was wondering, er, how did she convince you?”

The hammer missed the stake completely. “Pardon me?”

Ginny still sat beside the first one, drawing in the dirt with one hand. “What did she—how—I mean, how did you know—“

This was not happening. It was a nightmare or a prank—yes, that was it. George had slipped something into his mash when they met for lunch.

“Merlin, Ginny, couldn’t you have at least waited until I was drunk?”

“I thought about that, but you’re always on the roof with the others, and you lot won’t let me up there!”

True enough. They had let Ginny up the night of Fred’s funeral and the night she mentioned a few minutes ago, but all the other roof meetings had been wizards only. Charlie dropped the hammer and scrubbed both hands over his face. “All right, come on.”

“What?”

He jerked his head towards the road. “Come on.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, crossing the road and heading towards Stoatshead Hill.

“What’s this really about?”

She looked up at him suspiciously. “Do you promise not to hurt him?”

“No.”

“Charlie!”

“You’re my baby sister. I reserve the right to pulverize anyone who hurts you.”

“My definition of hurting me,” Ginny said.

Charlie considered this. “If I say no, does that mean this conversation is over?”

“Fine. Forget I asked.” She turned and was out of reach before he realized she had moved.

He hadn’t meant to make her mad. “Ginny, wait! Wait. I’m sorry.”

She stopped but didn’t turn around.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently, laying a hand on her shoulder.

She shook it off. “I don’t have anyone else to ask! Bill would lock me in my room forever, Ron would go spare even if he were here, George is—George, I’m _not_ asking Percy, Hermione is on the other side of the world, and Tonks is dead! So, I’m sorry, but—“ Her voice cracked.

“What about Mum?”

“Mum thinks I’m still a baby.”

Charlie recognized the accuracy of that statement and sighed. Bill was going to kill him. “Okay, Ginny. Tell me what’s going on.” 

She gave him another suspicious look but resumed walking. “I know how to … stop things from happening, but what do I do if I want more?”

“You mean physically?” If they were going to have this conversation, then they were going to have it—no guesses and no misunderstandings.

She nodded, blushing. 

“What does he do when you try? You have tried, right?”

“Last time he shoved me out of his bed.”

What, Ginny wasn’t good enough for the Boy Who Lived? Charlie realized he was considering hexing Potter for _not_ making a move on his sister and shook his head. Time to try a different approach.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this? You’re not even of age. There’s plenty of time—“

“One month,” she retorted. “I’ll be seventeen one month from tomorrow. How old was Tonks?”

“None of your business,” he said firmly. If Tonks hadn’t told her, Charlie certainly wasn’t going to. “There’s no rush. Having sex is a big decision, one you can’t take back.”

“I know that. I’m not talking about … that, not exactly. Not yet. But I’m going back to Hogwarts in September and Harry’s not, and I don’t want to wait another year.”

“What if he does?”

She looked so gobsmacked that Charlie laughed.

“Is that possible?”

“Well, not typically, but he’s not your typical bloke, now is he?”

“No,” she said softly. “No, he’s not.”

“Look, Ginny, a blind man could see Harry is crazy about you. I don’t know why he’s holding back, but I do know he’s attracted to you. He watches you all the time, even when one of us is watching him. That is not the behavior of a bloke who’s not interested, okay?”

She pulled her plait over her shoulder and began playing with the ends. “He said—he said he didn’t want to screw anything up, not with me and not with Ron or … anybody, but….”

Charlie waited.

“I don’t want to push Harry or make him uncomfortable, but how do I let him know I’m ready when he is? When I am, I mean?”

He smiled, certain his next suggestion would get a reaction. “Tell him.”

Ginny dropped her plait and stared up at him. “Really? But—but—what—how—“

“He’s your boyfriend.”

“But—“ She spluttered to a halt.

“Ready or not, he’s thought about it. He’ll be relieved to know you have too, to stop having to guess what you want or worry he’s going to offend you.”

“But I—“ She broke off, turning pink. “I already told him he wasn’t going to offend me if he … did stuff.”

“Ginny, unless you spelled it out body part by body part, he has no idea what you want.”

“But—why not?” she said, frustrated.

“Because we’re not mind readers. Because witches are mysterious, and you have this nasty habit of changing your minds. Because we like you, and we don’t want to make you mad.”

“Driving me mad, more likely,” she muttered.

“I’m sure it’s mutual,” Charlie said dryly.

She was playing with her plait again. He considered his sister’s personality combined with her revelations.

“My guess is, he’s been a bit reserved, and you’ve been the one to move things forward so far. Am I right?”

She shrugged.

“But you want him to make the final move?”

She made an awkward movement that could have meant anything. 

“Well?” Charlie stopped walking.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Then back off,” he said gently. “Give him room to act. There’s no need to chase something that’s not running away from you.” And since he had said all this, there was one thing he needed to make certain. “And Ginny?”

“Hmm?” 

“I assume Mum taught you how to do the charm?”

“A contraception and disease charm? Ages ago.”

“Don’t forget to use it,” he said sternly. “If you’re grown-up enough to have sex, then be responsible about it.”

“Charlie?”

Oh, Merlin, now what?

But Ginny flung her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

Charlie held on tight. She was growing up—had grown up—much too fast. “Don’t make me regret it.”

()()()()

Ginny heard the flapping of wings and instinctively leaned forward to protect the treacle tart from feathers. She turned and spotted a now-familiar bird with a white breast and brown wings perched on the back of a kitchen chair, a scroll strapped to one leg.

“Harry!” she called, loudly enough for her voice to carry into the sitting room. “It’s another letter from Ron and Hermione!”

Harry came into the kitchen and untied the letter as Ginny loaded plates on a tray and followed him back into the sitting room. She set the tray on a side table and snagged a piece of treacle tart for herself and Harry, sitting down beside George, who was sprawled over half the sofa with a drink in one hand. Harry sat in the floor at her feet between the sofa and Percy’s chair.

“What does it say?” Ginny said eagerly. “Are they coming home?”

Harry skimmed the parchment. “On the eighteenth—that’s this Saturday!”

“With Hermione’s parents?”

Harry nodded. “They’re all flying into London, then they’ll split up and take the train the rest of the way.”

“Hermione’s not coming here first?” Ginny said, disappointed.

“Ron says the situation between her and her parents is pretty tense and she wants to spend as much time with them as possible before she goes back to Hogwarts. She’s planning to come for my birthday, though.” Harry practically vibrated with excitement.

Ginny smiled, handing him his plate and fork as he set the letter aside.

“Ron’s taking the train from London?” George said. “The Muggle train?”

“He’s been traveling in the Muggle world for two months. I’m sure he can manage,” Percy said. “It’s about time if you ask me. I don’t see why he needed to go with Hermione in the first place.”

Harry tensed and Ginny pressed her foot into his side. Of course Percy didn’t understand; he didn’t know that Mr. and Mrs. Granger had been—well, not Mr. and Mrs. Granger any more.

“You did not just say that,” George said, staring at his older brother.

Percy collected the last crumbs of crust by pressing his fork against the plate. “He should have been here, with us. To support the family.”

Ginny stopped breathing. No, Percy wasn’t that stupid, he hadn’t just given George the perfect opening—

“What, like you did when Voldemort came back?”

Percy’s neck reddened, but he set his empty plate on the tray with calm precision. “That was different. There was no proof, but this time—“

“I’m sitting right here, Percy,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

He looked down at Harry in surprise, then adjusted his glasses. “But Ron left less than a week after Fred’s funeral!”

George dropped his half-eaten tart onto the tray with a clatter. “You have _no right_ to criticize anyone in this family. Merlin, you always have been a pompous arse.”

“George,” Ginny said quietly. He was drunk. Not that he didn’t have a point, but the alcohol made his sharp tongue sharper still and took away any softening humor. 

“Always right, always perfect, never making a single mistake and never admitting one even when it stares you in the face! Ron was right in the thick of it the whole entire time, but you didn’t have the courage to come home even when you started working for the Order!”

“I tried to come home, but you didn’t want me. You threw Christmas dinner in my face!”

“Percy,” Ginny cried. 

“Hello! Where is everyone?”

()()()()

Bill stared at the four of them frozen in place, obviously mid-argument. George leaned forward aggressively, Percy’s shoulders were hunched and his face turned away, Harry sat with his knees drawn up looking at no one, and Ginny was half out of her seat.

“What’s going on?” Bill said, stepping fully into the room.

Ginny straightened up and turned her anger on him, placing both hands on her hips and demanding, “What are you doing here?”

“Fleur forgot her dish.”

“I’ll get it for you.”

“I don’t care about the bowl. I want to know what’s going on.”

“It’s nothing, right, boys? Come on, Bill.” Ginny grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards the kitchen. “It’s sitting on the worktop.”

“Ginny—“

She picked up the serving bowl Fleur had brought to dinner earlier and extended it with one hand on the bottom and one on its lid. Bill refused to take it.

“Just because you’re the oldest doesn’t mean you can pry into everyone’s business.”

“Caring about why three of my siblings are fighting is not prying.”

“It is when you won’t leave well enough alone!” Ginny’s voice cracked. 

Whatever it was, she was genuinely upset.

“Is George drinking again?”

“That’s not it. Not all of it, at least. Take the bowl.”

Reluctantly, Bill complied. “Ginny—“

“Do you know Percy’s new address?”

“What?”

“Percy’s address. I want to Floo-call him. What is it?”

“He’s sitting in the next room.”

“He won’t be when I go back.”

“I—yeah, it’s—“ Bill ran a hand through his hair. “Something Highfield Road. I have it written down at home. I’ll bring it, okay?”

She nodded. 

“Are you okay?”

Another nod.

“You’ll tell me if there’s anything I can do?” There had to be something….

“Just get me the address,” Ginny said shortly, and left the kitchen.

()()()()

Ginny waited two days for the emotions of Sunday’s argument to die down before she visited Percy. Trusting that he had set the Floo security to blood wards, as Mum and Dad and Bill and Fleur did, she arrived in the early evening, at about the same time Percy would be leaving work. 

Ginny found herself in a spotless kitchen with a small scullery off to the left and set her housewarming gift on the square table right in front of her. She turned right down a narrow hall lit by the sunlight coming through the stained-glass transom and clear twin lites of the blue front door. The old wood floors creaked beneath her trainers as she passed a bathroom on her right and the lounge and Percy’s bedroom on her left before squinting through the wavy glass to see a long row of terraced houses across the street. A door opened and closed behind her.

“Percy?”

“Ginny?” Percy came though the scullery with a plastic bag in one hand and a leather case in the other. “What are you doing here?” He set the items on the table. “Is everything okay?”

“Is that dinner?” She took a deep breath, heading for the bag that smelled like food. “It smells delicious.”

“Chicken chow mein and egg rolls. But I didn’t get enough for two. I didn’t know you were coming,” he said pointedly.

Ginny didn’t argue or grab for it; she just looked from Percy to the bag and back again.

“Oh, sit down,” he said impatiently, turning to the cupboards for plates.

She beamed at him as he scraped a third of the noodles onto her plate and added an egg roll before pouring drinks for both of them.

“This is good,” she said after her first mouthful. “What is it?”

“Chinese. What’s that?” Percy nodded at the bowl Ginny had brought with her.

She pushed it towards him. A wave of steam escaped when he removed the lid, and he stared into it for a full minute.

“You—“ He cleared his throat. “You made me parsnips?”

Ginny watched him anxiously. “You had to know you couldn’t just waltz in like nothing happened.”

“It was Christmas!”

“You brought Scrimgeour! The only reason you showed up that day was so Scrimgeour could bully Harry into supporting the Ministry.”

“That is _not_ true,” Percy said sharply. “I had been planning to come home for weeks, and somehow Scrimgeour found out. You have no idea how terrifying that was, him casually asking if he could accompany me to my parents’ home on Christmas Day. I had told no one, Ginny. No one. I still don’t know how he found out.” He replaced the lid with a loud clatter.

She looked down at her plate. “I’m sorry. I wanted you to come home, Perce. I did.”

He toyed with his noodles, twisting them around the sticks he was eating with. Ginny watched him for a minute, then got up and began opening drawers, looking for a spoon. She found one in the second drawer she opened and returned to the table, took the lid off the parsnips, and scooped up a spoonful, holding it over Percy’s plate. It took a moment, but he moved his half-eaten egg roll to make room. Ginny plopped them onto his plate and then served herself. She heard footsteps on stairs and started in surprise.

“There are two flats above us.”

“Oh. It’s nice. I like it.”

“Nosy brat,” Percy said, but there was affection in the insult, and Ginny smiled.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six

“Those are pretty,” Mum said.

Ginny looked up from the flowers she was arranging. “Thanks.”

“Is Harry at the Ministry?” Mum set the boxes she was carrying on the table and sat down.

Ginny nodded. “Testifying again.” 

“They’re going to wear that boy out.”

“He’s doing okay, I think,” Ginny said. “At least he’ll talk about it.” She stepped back, eyed the vase critically, and swapped two blooms, but it still looked off.

Mum pushed the pruning shears towards her. “Trim this one and this one. You need more variety in height.”

Ginny followed her instructions and smiled. “That looks better. What are those?” She indicated the boxes.

“Photographs,” Mum said softly. “I always thought that after you went to Hogwarts I would have time to sort them into albums, but it never seemed to happen. Want to help?”

Ginny hesitated. Did she? Did she want to look at photos of happy twins and an unscarred Bill and a present Percy?

“Photos from when?”

“These are all after Ron started Hogwarts, I think,” Mum said, lifting the boxes to read the dates written on the ends. 

Ginny gripped the edge of the table. “You don’t—you don’t think it will be sad?”

“Not as sad as forgetting would be.” Mum looked her straight in the eye, one of the few times she had done so this summer.

Ginny pushed the vase to the other end of the table and pulled out a chair. It would be easier—and more fun—together. “Okay. Where should we start?” 

“Let’s start with this one. I thought we’d put them in albums by school year.”

Ginny pulled the box closer and took off the lid. 

()()()()

“Ready?” Harry asked.

Ginny nodded and placed her hand in his. Hermione’s letter said they could Apparate to her parents’ house, that the protective spells she had used would hide them from Muggle eyes much the same way that Muggles could see Hogwarts, but not as it really was. And Harry had his Apparition license and everything now, so it was all nice and legal. 

The suffocating pressure seemed to last longer than usual—how far were they going? Ginny hadn’t thought to ask—and then there was solid ground under her feet and the smell of fresh-cut grass and the sound of cars in the near distance. She opened her eyes and looked up at a beautiful old house, complete with turret and spire. It was painted a dark khaki color with cream trim and red accents and was in impeccable shape.

“Here?” Ginny said faintly, staring up at the stately house. “Hermione lives _here_?”

“Come on, let’s see inside.” Harry bounded up the steps of the veranda, and his blasé reaction, more than anything else, told her about the kind of house his aunt and uncle had.

The Grangers’ home was beautiful, and huge, and Ginny didn’t need to understand Muggle money to know keeping a house this old in such pristine condition was terribly expensive. She had always known Hermione’s family had more money than hers; most families did. Not only was an only child a bit of a giveaway, but Hermione always had new books and robes and shoes of good quality, always had spending money for an ice cream in Diagon Alley or a new quill in Hogsmeade, always got several things for her birthday and Christmas even though there were only two people buying for her. Ginny had known that, but she hadn’t expected this.

Harry had the door unlocked, and she followed him into the hall. The house was, if possible, even lovelier inside. With high plaster ceilings and polished wood floors, a splendid oak staircase to the left and a marble fireplace directly ahead, Ginny couldn’t see any reason why Hermione would prefer staying at the Burrow. There was a formal lounge with two walls of windows facing onto the veranda, a dining room nearly twice the size of the Burrow’s kitchen (both with fireplaces), a lavatory, a large sitting room with a whole wall full of gadgets (also with a fireplace), two desks in the cozy study lined with built-in bookcases, and a kitchen with a walk-in cupboard. 

“Harry,” Ginny said, coming in off the back porch to find him running water in the kitchen sink. “This is gorgeous!”

“It is really nice. The water’s on, and—“ He opened a tall metal box, and a light came on. “And the electricity. Excellent. It looks clean to me. What do you think? Hermione said she wanted to know if the cleaning service didn’t do a good job.”

Ginny took a closer look at the worktops, sink, and floors, then went around the corner to the lavatory and examined the sink and toilet. “Everything looks good here. What about in the study? Are the bookshelves dusty or anything?”

“Nothing. Even the windows are sparkling,” Harry said, coming out of the sitting room. “There’s so much sunlight, you wouldn’t need any lights on a nice day.”

“It’s wonderful,” Ginny agreed. “And the moldings and the trim and everything … so many details.”

“Let’s go upstairs. Bet we can guess which room is Hermione’s by the number of books.” Harry grinned.

Upstairs put them in an open hall to their right, with cushioned bench seating all the way around the tower and a door leading to the upper balcony. Harry turned left and Ginny followed him down the narrow hallway into what she immediately knew was Hermione’s room. Set along the same side of the house as the turret, it jutted out farther than the back rooms and had windows on three sides and a fireplace in the interior corner. Harry was right, it was filled with books: paper books and hardbacks, children’s books and literature, history and reference, stacked on half-height white bookcases that circled the room. Hermione’s bed was neatly made and the top of her desk was bare. It was obviously Hermione—the books, the blue, the neatness—but something was missing.

“There’s no photographs,” Ginny said. “No personal items, nothing about Hogwarts—nothing magical at all. Not even her textbooks.” She turned around, examining the entire room again. 

“She probably put all that away before she modified her parents’ memories. She wouldn’t want anything out for the Death Eaters to find, either.”

“Maybe,” Ginny said, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that it meant something more. Something that made Hermione uncomfortable here, some reason why she preferred being crammed into the Burrow for most of summer holiday. 

“Come on, let’s check the upstairs bathrooms and find her parents’ room. We need to find the linen cupboard too, so we can make the beds.”

Bathrooms?

Yes, there were two bathrooms upstairs—that made three toilets for three people! Having shared a bathroom all her life, Ginny experienced her sharpest pang of envy yet when she entered the bathroom at the end of the hall and realized, by its crisp blue and white decor, that it was intended for Hermione’s exclusive use. 

“Okay, Hermione said the linens were in the cupboard in the front bedroom, so that would be….” Harry walked back down the hall the way they’d come and entered the room across from the tower. “Here!”

Ginny smiled. Hermione had sent very detailed instructions, as Hermione was wont to do, and Harry had apparently memorized them. Ginny would have to remember to tell her how Harry had worked to get everything just right.

“Take these to Hermione’s room, and meet me in the master suite,” Harry said, handing her a set of sheets that, like Hermione’s robes and clothes, had a nice hand and showed minimal wear. “We’ll make up the beds and then we can go to the supermarket.”

Ginny obeyed, stealing a quick minute to peek in the last room, whose door Harry hadn’t opened. She wrinkled her nose as the smell of stale air hit her and crossed the room to open the windows, leaving the door open so she would remember to close them later. Another bedroom; that made four. Four bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths, two sitting rooms, a kitchen and a dining room, and a study. All for only three people. Being the only girl, she had always had her own bedroom, but she remembered how much the boys had grumbled about having to share when everyone lived at home. It was still cramped at holidays or special events, like when Bill and Charlie had come home for the Quidditch World Cup or Remus and Tonks stayed Christmas before last. Last summer, before Bill and Fleur’s wedding, Mum and Dad had had to sleep in the sitting room! No one really cared, especially when it was just for a few days, but it was inconvenient and awkward, negotiating bathroom time with her brother’s in-laws and her old DADA teacher.

“Ginny?”

She jerked away from her contemplation of the empty room. “I’m coming!”

Harry met her in the hall. “It’s okay. I hung up some towels and made their bed. Want to help me with Hermione’s?”

Ginny set the pillow on the desk and pulled back the duvet. “Harry?”

“Yeah?” He unfolded the sheet with a snap of his wrists.

“Did you know Hermione’s house was going to be like this?”

“Like what?”

Ginny waved her hand around. “Look at this room! It’s nearly twice the size of mine and twice as nice! Crown molding, wide skirting boards, it even has a fireplace!”

“It has a fireplace because this house is one hundred years old and that’s how you heated houses when it was built,” Harry said calmly. “As for the rest, you know Hermione doesn’t care about that.”

Ginny tucked in her corner of the sheet. No, Hermione had never turned up her nose at anything in the Burrow, not the shabby furniture or sleeping on a camp bed or the frayed towels that were all that was available to shower with. Nothing like the fluffy, nearly blanket-sized ones they’d found in the cupboard in Hermione’s bathroom.

“It doesn’t change who she is, you know,” Harry said. “Speaking from experience, the best—or worst—thing about a house is the people who live in it. A lot of people would think my aunt and uncle’s house is better than the Burrow, but I was never welcome there. Your parents—all your family—have always made me feel at home. That’s worth a lot more than your own bathroom and fancy woodwork.”

Ginny spread out the blanket on her side. “Maybe it was lonely for her here, with no playmates and all this space. You could go hours and not run into anyone. That’s next to impossible in the Burrow when everyone’s home, unless you go outside.”

“Let’s not forget the Burrow’s main Hermione attraction,” Harry said with a smirk. “Ron.” 

Ginny laughed. “I was lucky. You always came to me.”

“Indeed I did.” Harry circled the bed and pulled her into his arms. “Always.” 

“No, Harry, we just made this bed….”

()()()()

Harry was just about to take his first bite of pork chop when Bill asked the question.

“How are the trials going, Harry?”

He set down his fork. “Good, I suppose. It seems awfully slow progress to me, but Kingsley seems pleased.”

“I saw in the Prophet where they’ve moved into the actual criminal activity part,” Mr. Weasley said.

Harry nodded, chewing quickly before swallowing. “Starting with the oldest Death Eaters, the ones who were involved in the first war.”

Mr. Weasley glanced at his wife, who was talking with Ginny, then back to Harry. “Including Antonin Dolohov?”

“He’s on the list,” Harry said. “I think Kingsley is waiting for Hermione to get back so she can testify to his attack in the Department of Mysteries.”

“Can’t you do that?”

“I can and I will,” Harry said firmly. “But three witnesses are better than two.”

Percy looked up for the first time. “Who’s the third witness?”

“Neville Longbottom.”

“Oh.” Percy resumed his study of the empty place setting across from him, the one that had been laid for George. It wasn’t particularly unusual for George to miss a family dinner, but Harry knew Percy was thinking about their argument last weekend.

“Is there anybody left to testify, Dad?” Bill said, helping himself to more vegetables. “About Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian?”

Harry jerked his head up. Of course—Bill would have been old enough to remember them.

“They shouldn’t get off a second time,” Percy said, his voice unusually harsh.

And apparently Percy did as well.

“It was Moody and the Longbottoms who found them,” Mrs. Weasley said quietly. 

All four men turned to her with guarded and guilty expressions, but she was calm. 

“It will depend on how strict the Wizengamot is about hearsay,” she continued. “Everyone with direct knowledge of the attack—everyone who wasn’t a Death Eater—is either dead or as good as.”

“Do you know who else attacked them?” Harry said. “Moody said there were five, but—“

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to know. It didn’t seem to matter, then.”

“I just thought—if we had something on one of the other Death Eaters, maybe we could make him flip on Dolohov.”

“What about Malfoy?” Bill said.

Harry made a noise of disgust and picked up his glass. “I can’t see Lucius Malfoy being part of an attack where people would actually fight back,” he said, taking a drink. “He strikes me as too much of a bully for that.”

“The odds were in his favor, though,” Mr. Weasley said bitterly.

“What about the Malfoys, Harry?” Ginny said. “When will their trial begin?”

“I don’t know, but the Ministry has frozen all their assets.”

“That’s keeping the goblins busy, I can tell you,” Bill said. “It’s not just the Malfoys—it’s everyone suspected of aiding Voldemort. And the way the families intermarried … it’s a logistical nightmare.”

“It will be months of work,” Mr. Weasley said. “They can’t expect you to keep up this level of involvement, Harry.”

Harry shrugged and swallowed his last bite of meat. “Once I start Auror training it will be easier, I think. I’ll already be at the Ministry, and they can just send a clerk to fetch me when I’m needed instead of me hanging around most of the day.” 

“I saw Robards the other day, and he mentioned he hadn’t got your application yet,” Mr. Weasley said.

Harry shook his head. “I’m waiting for Ron, so we can turn them in together.”

“Almost,” Mrs. Weasley said. “It will be so nice to have everyone home again.” And like Percy, she stared at the empty chair and place setting.

()()()()

“So, Ginny, what did you want to talk with me about?”

Ginny passed her sister-in-law another plate and plunged her hands back into the soapy water. “I thought maybe you’d help me with Harry’s birthday party.”

“But of course! The end of this month, is it not?”

Ginny nodded. “The thirty-first, which is a Friday. Mum will want to help, but I don’t think she’s up to doing it all by herself.”

“No,” Fleur sighed, setting the dry plate on top of the stack to be carried to the dresser. “She is better, your mother, but not the same.”

“I’ll write to Hagrid, and Hermione will come, of course, and Bill said Charlie’s planning to be home then, so I’ll get him to promise to bring George, and—and that’s it, I think.”

“ _Oui_ ,” Fleur whispered. She was thinking of Tonks and Lupin too. “Unless—what about Teddy?” 

“Oh!” How could she have forgotten? “Well, I’ll ask Mrs. Tonks if she would like to come. I know it would mean a lot to Harry. Mum will want to make the cake, I think, and I’ll make a treacle tart, it’s Harry’s favorite, and I’ll find out what he wants for dinner, so if you could—“

“Anything,” Fleur said, reaching up to hang the skillet on the pot rack. “Well, maybe not anything—I’m still learning how to cook this English food, but I will help. Just tell me what you need.”

Ginny rinsed a glass, feeling slightly ashamed. She had been reluctant to ask for help, and now Fleur was being perfectly gracious. True, she had been rather obnoxious that summer she’d stayed at the Burrow before the wedding, but maybe she had just been nervous about meeting her fiancé’s family and hadn’t done the best job of handling it. She had risked her life to move Harry from his aunt and uncle’s house, and had welcomed and sheltered Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dean, and Luna for weeks, and fought bravely in the Battle, and sat with Mum in those early days of May, and Merlin knew Bill was crazy about her. Ginny had been skeptical at first, but it looked like her big brother was right yet again.

She looked at Fleur and smiled. “Thank you.”

Fleur returned the gesture. “You are very welcome, Ginny. I thought maybe it was something else you wanted to talk about.”

“Oh?” Ginny swished her hand through the water, fishing for stray cutlery.

“Something to do with ‘arry … of a more personal nature, perhaps?”

Ginny felt the tines of a fork and latched onto it gratefully, scrubbing with intense concentration.

“You and he have become very … close … this summer.”

Fleur’s voice held layers of meaning, and Ginny felt her ears start to burn as the silence stretched between them. Fleur carried the heavy stack of clean plates to the dresser, slid them into the racks, and returned to the sink. Ginny continued cleaning the fork, the very last thing left. 

“If there is anything you wish to know or want to ask, if you feel you cannot talk to your _maman_ for whatever reason, I hope you will come to me. I would not breathe a word to anyone, least of all your brother.”

Ginny gave a jerky nod and heard the door to the kitchen swing open with relief. It had been hard enough to approach Charlie in the deserted garden; no way could she talk about her relationship with Harry here, where anyone could—and did—walk in.

“Aren’t you two done yet?” Bill said.

“Almost,” Ginny answered, not bothering to turn around, not needing the soft sounds of a kiss to know the two were cuddling. She rinsed and dried the fork, dropping it in the drawer before reaching to drain the sink. She glanced down at the dirty dishwater, then over her shoulder to where Fleur still stood in Bill’s embrace, talking quietly. In one quick move Ginny cupped her fingers, dragged them through the water, and flung a handful at the couple, careful to aim primarily at Bill.

“Ginny!” Bill yelled and stepped away from his wife as wetness splashed onto his arm and stomach. “Grow up, will you?”

“If you insist,” she grinned, dropping a wink before heading for the sitting room, and her boyfriend, and a very grown-up fly.

()()()()

Harry stood to one side of the ticket hall. Beside him, Ginny bobbed on tiptoe, searching the crowd. Ron’s train had arrived five minutes ago.

“You don’t need to strain yourself, Ginny,” Harry said, her eagerness heightening his own. “Just look for a ginger head above everyone else’s.”

But Ginny did not calm down, leaning first to one side and then the other to get a better view. It must have worked, for she spotted him first.

“There he is, there he is!” She grabbed Harry’s arm and waved wildly with her other hand. “Ron! RON!” 

Harry, who was watching above the crowd, spotted the bright hair as it turned and headed for them. Ron paused to let a mother with a baby in arms, a toddler in a pram, and a preschooler trailing behind her pass between them, and then Ginny broke away, running into her brother’s embrace.

“Hi, sis. I missed you,” Ron said, picking her up and hugging her hard for a long moment before setting her back on her feet. He turned to Harry, a broad smile on his freckled face. “Hello, mate.”

Harry took his hand and they pulled each other into a half-hug, complete with hearty slaps on the back. 

“You look knackered,” Harry said, taking in the rumpled clothing, slumped shoulders, and bloodshot eyes.

“Yeah, it’s been—I don’t even know how many hours. It was almost twenty-six just to London, so more than a whole day traveling. I thought Hermione was mental when she suggested I take the train from the airport, but she was right. I’d have arrived in pieces, if at all.”

Harry noticed the way Ron spoke of Apparating without naming it.

“Do you want a coffee?” Ginny said, hanging off Ron’s free arm; his rucksack dangled from the other.

Ron eyed the café behind them, then shook his head. “I just want to go home. Who’s there?”

Harry led the way out of the station as Ginny chattered on about their family. 

“Mum and Dad are the only ones home right now. They wanted to come and meet you, but Harry convinced them it was best if it was just the two of us since it would be harder for all five of us to Ap—“

Harry turned to give her a warning look only to find Ron doing the same.

“Harder for all five of us to go unnoticed,” Ginny said blithely, tripping into the street without looking. “Bill reckoned you’d be exhausted from traveling the—from traveling so far, so he said you’re welcome to come to Shell Cottage if you like but otherwise he and Fleur will see you tomorrow. Mum’s having a welcome home dinner for you, obviously, and Percy has a new flat in London—you should see it, it’s nice. He’ll be at dinner tomorrow too, and so will George. He’s at the shop today, of course, Saturday and summertime and all that.”

“It’s Saturday?” Ron said.

“Almost two-thirty,” Harry said, heading for the brushy bank at the back of the car park.

“We left Sydney at five-fifteen Friday evening,” Ron said. He squinted up at the sun, half-hidden by clouds. “That’s weird.”

“Mum’s excited you’re back,” Ginny continued. “She even cleaned your room. Charlie’s coming home on the twenty-ninth, and he’ll be here for Harry’s birthday, and Hermione’s coming, right? Did she and her parents get home okay?”

“I dunno,” Ron said, rubbing his face. “They had to wait for their train and everything, so….”

“Well, I’m sure she’ll write. You should send Pig as soon as you get home, Ron, so she can reply back this evening.”

But Ron shook his head. “No owls. No Apparating, no wands, no magic. Her parents’ rules.”

They had reached the edge of the car park, and Harry pulled the other two behind a large, leafy shrub. 

“They’re not allowing Hermione to use magic?” Ginny gaped at her brother.

He shook his head again. “Don’t trust her after what she did last year. It’s been rough.”

“But—that was to protect them!” Ginny protested.

“I know. But she is their daughter, and she used a skill they don’t possess against them, gave them no choice in the matter and no way to defend themselves.”

“Defend themselves!” she said. “You make it sound like Hermione was hurting them.”

“She made them forget her, Ginny. It hurt all three of them.”

Ginny’s face fell. “So, how are we going to communicate with her?”

“Muggle post,” Ron said. “It’s slow but it works.”

“We need to go before someone sees us,” Harry said. “Ron, do you want to Side-Along?”

He nodded.

Harry reached for both their hands and twisted into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really wanted to do a "typical" English house for the Grangers, but having a) only been to London and b) not been in any private English homes, I had no idea how to go about this. Someone on the FF.net forums mentioned England has a lot more older homes than the U.S., especially from the Victorian period, and I was hooked. So, if there are no old homes in England that look like this, more's the pity. I realize it's much too big, but I found actual house plans from 1891 and decided that was authentic enough, so picture the same layout with smaller rooms :) 
> 
> 1891 Victorian, including elevations and floor plan (the back staircase has been converted to bathrooms): www. housemouse .net/ ebooks/ plan 0104 .htm
> 
> Inspiration for interior details (and an absolutely jaw-dropping house): www. castlevictorian .com


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this on Sunday as an extra post and then life happened. I'll post again later tonight for the usual Wednesday update.

Harry slowed his broomstick and landed smoothly on the thick grass, reaching out to take Ginny’s broomstick as she pulled up beside him. 

“That was fun!” She surrendered her broom and fell into step beside him. “We haven’t flown that far in ages.”

“What made you want to go so far tonight?” 

“I don’t know. Restless, I guess. And it’s good weather. Bright moon.”

Harry hummed, recognizing the fib but not really caring. He took her hand to lead her deeper into the orchard, propped their brooms against a nearby trunk, and sat down, pulling her down in front of him so she leaned back against his chest. She was warm, and soft, and there was something soothing about the weight of her against him, her fingers laced with his and resting against her stomach.

He had nearly told her two days ago.

They had been kissing on Hermione’s bed, and Ginny smiled at him when he came up for air, the soft smile he’d never seen her give anyone else, and he’d almost said it right then— _I love you_. But her nose had crinkled, and she said she could almost feel Hermione glaring at her, and Harry realized it was rather weird, making out in his best friend’s bedroom—on _her_ bed, no less—and they laughed, and the moment was over.

But the feelings weren’t. He had been next to useless in the supermarket, forgetting the next item on the list immediately after he looked at it, running the cart into an end display because he was watching Ginny instead of where he was going, pulling out wizarding money in the checkout line and not the pounds he’d asked Bill to exchange. He’d put the tea in the freezer and the meat in the pantry, and when he’d tried to pour Crookshanks’s litter in the sugar bowl, Ginny had finally asked if he was all right. When Harry assured her he was wonderful, she’d only looked more concerned. 

Harry tightened his arms around her and bent his head to inhale the scent of her hair. The short time in Hermione’s room felt like ages ago. Yesterday had been spent with Ron, and everyone had been at the Burrow today for Ron’s welcome-home dinner. 

Ginny had been flirty all day today, despite the company: light touches at mealtimes, special smiles from across the room, brushing his arm or his shoulder or the sensitive skin on his neck whenever she passed, sitting entirely too close when she was reading in the sitting room, playing chase while they were flying, and just now, she had slid down the length of him before settling between his legs, her ankles draped over his calves. 

She was magic, his Ginny, light and laughter and everything good about his life, and after nearly three months of peace, three months of spending almost all his time with her, of learning everything he could about her, he was more fascinated with her than ever. And starting to believe that maybe—maybe it wasn’t too much to ask, to have a normal life. To fall in love and be loved back in return.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever think about the future?”

 _All the time_. “What do you mean?”

“Like what we’ll be doing in a few years.”

He smiled at her automatic use of _we_. “What do you want to be doing?”

“I want to play professional Quidditch. For the Holyhead Harpies. I want to be their best Chaser.”

Harry shifted so he could see her face. It was set and almost defiant, as if she expected him to shoot her down.

“That’s brilliant!”

“You think so?” 

“Absolutely. You love the game, and you have real talent, Ginny.”

She beamed at him and snuggled into his embrace, turning so her legs stretched over one thigh and her cheek rested over his heart. Harry slipped a hand under the hem of her tee, tracing light circles on the smooth skin of her back.

“I’ll be old enough to go to tryouts next spring,” she said. “I remember when Charlie went. Dad took us, me and Ron—everyone else was at Hogwarts—and I watched all those girls on broomsticks and thought ‘one day, that’s going to be me.’”

“I think it’s brilliant,” Harry repeated, letting his hand drift a little higher.

“Don’t tell anyone, though, okay? I don’t want to fight with Mum about it until I have to.”

“Does Ron know?”

“Probably,” Ginny said. “I said it often enough when I was little, and Ron knows better than most people I don’t change my mind easily.”

Her own hand skimmed the hem of his shorts, one fingernail scraping the inside of his thigh, and Harry gasped.

()()()()

Ginny barely had time to smile before Harry kissed her, wound his fist in her hair and cradled her face, opened her mouth, and the passion and the emotion that had simmered for days exploded between them. She felt the familiar rush of adrenaline spiking through her veins, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, the slow burn building deep in her belly. Harry wrapped his arms around her and she pushed in close, lifting his shirt to feel his skin beneath her hands. He broke the kiss, nipping down her neck as they both panted for air, and she dropped his shirt to push on his shoulders.

“Down,” she gasped. “Down, on the grass….”

He twisted away from the tree and she straddled him, thighs tight against his flanks. Harry pulled her down to him, kissing her deeply, recklessly, the kind of uninhibited kiss she so rarely got from him, and Ginny responded eagerly. He had pulled her shirt off and had one breast in his free hand, the other still tangled in her hair, and she moaned as he squeezed gently, brushing his thumb across the nipple. Even through the fabric of her bra, that felt incredible. It wasn’t until Harry thrust up against her that she realized she was moving, rubbing back and forth against him, and she shuddered.

He wrenched his mouth from hers. “Define ‘some things,’” he gasped.

“What?” She was concentrating on holding still, acutely aware of the subconscious intention behind her previous movement.

“You said—‘some things’—does this—“ He shifted.

“Yes, yes!”

Harry rolled them over, and she had no time to admire his strength or agility before he was kissing her again. Ginny allowed this for a moment, ignoring the tree root stabbing into her back, but—no, that really did hurt.

She pushed against his shoulder. “Move. Root,” she mumbled, and they turned to the side, her leg wrapping around him. Ginny ground down harder. Harry made a choking noise and grasped her hips, holding her in place. She moved one of his hands back to her breast and kissed his mouth, slowly and deliberately this time, concentrating on the taste of him, the tingling in her breasts, the pressure between her legs as they continued to move together.

He stroked her bottom, the other hand still toying with her nipple, and Ginny couldn’t breathe. It was—it was like being consumed from the inside, stronger and more demanding than she had imagined, and she shifted position by instinct, gasping at the increased friction.

Harry came first, both hands on her bum as he grunted and jerked against her. Ginny rolled her hips, pressing down hard, letting out a long moan as the tension drained away. They lay like that for a few minutes, a little too embarrassed to talk to or look at each other, and then she felt him reach for his wand. Ginny slid to the side, and he murmured the cleansing spell.

She lay beside him, waiting. Harry slid his hand over and found hers.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Uh-huh.” 

He still wasn’t looking at her. To be fair, Ginny noted this from the corner of her eye.

“Well, I, er—I’m just gonna—“ He made to stand up.

“No,” she said firmly, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. “You do not get to just walk away from me, not after something like that.”

“Ginny….”

“I don’t care if it’s embarrassing to talk about,” she said, sitting up. “It happened, and I’m not sorry, and you shouldn’t be either. You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to—“ She stopped, struck by a sudden thought. “Did I—I mean—“ She closed her eyes and took a deep breath even as she felt the heat spreading over her cheeks. “Did you not … was that … not okay?”

“What? No! I just wanted to make sure—wanted you to be—to be—“

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

Harry sent her short, wary glances over his shoulder.

Ginny put her hands on her hips. “I liked it. Did you?”

The back of his neck was red, but he nodded. 

“Did you?” she pressed.

“Yes.”

“I’m not mad at you for not stopping. Are you mad at me for not stopping?”

He faced her. “No.”

“All right then,” she said, shifting awkwardly as her temper faded and the embarrassment took hold. He was still at arm’s length, and Ginny allowed him his space.

“You really—that was okay?” Harry said.

“I thought it was better than okay.”

He took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “You were brilliant.”

She laughed, feeling some of the awkwardness ease. “Maybe you’ll remember that the next time I get into bed with you.”

Harry smiled. “Maybe next time it won’t be Hermione’s.”

“Definitely not Hermione’s.”

More silence. Ginny wondered if, like she, Harry was thinking about her bed on the first floor. She cleared her throat. 

“We, um, we should go back.”

Harry picked up their broomsticks and they left the orchard, climbing over the fence and stopping at the broom shed before letting themselves into the silent house. It was late, much later than they normally came back. As they crept through the dimly lit kitchen, skirted the dark shapes of furniture in the sitting room, and avoided the squeaky stairs without speaking, the familiar routine of sneaking in the house every night soothed both their nerves, and Ginny knew before they stopped outside her closed bedroom door they would kiss goodnight as usual.

It was very dark on the landing, the soft glow of the bathroom’s nightlight across the hall insufficient to see Harry’s face. He reached out one finger and brushed a strand of hair off her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. Ginny held her breath. He was going to say it—there had been a handful of times in the last few weeks she had thought Harry was going to tell her how he felt, and now—here—tonight—he was going to say it—

But he only brushed his mouth with hers, lingered for a second kiss, and whispered goodnight, leaving Ginny leaning against her bedroom door with a hand over her mouth and her heart in her eyes.

()()()()

Harry folded the soapy dishcloth into a glass and gave it a twist. Another Sunday dinner had ended and most of the Weasleys were still outside. Ginny came into the kitchen with another stack of dishes and set them on the worktop beside Harry. She leaned close to see out the window over the sink.

“What’s going on?” 

Harry looked up. George and Percy stood in the front garden. Percy’s arms were waving around, but George’s were crossed over his chest.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “Looks like they’re arguing about something. The joke shop, maybe?” George’s obsession with work was becoming a sore spot in the family. So was his drinking. 

Ginny frowned. “Maybe. I hope so.” She pulled a clean dishtowel out of a drawer and began drying the dishes while continuing to watch the scene out the window.

Harry knew what she meant. The relationship between George and Percy had been strained all summer, ever since—well, ever since Percy came back to the Great Hall without Fred, and the argument a fortnight ago hadn’t helped. Harry knew George was here tonight only for Ron.

“Oh, good, you haven’t finished yet. You missed a few, Ginny.” Mr. Weasley added two glasses and several pieces of cutlery to the dirty dishes at Harry’s elbow. 

“Percy and George are fighting,” Ginny said at once, sounding more concerned than tattling.

Mr. Weasley looked over Harry’s head to where the brothers now stood toe-to-toe, both red in the face and obviously shouting, even though their words couldn’t be heard inside the kitchen. “I think we need to let them work it out on their own, sunshine.”

“Ouch,” Harry said. George had just clocked Percy straight on the mouth.

“Dad, do something,” Ginny demanded.

“I really think—“

Both men were on the ground now, and Harry could just see Bill and Ron hurrying around the corner of the house.

“He’s not fighting back,” Ginny said. “Daddy, Percy’s not fighting back!” She threw down the towel, pushed past her father, and ran into the sitting room and out the front door.

“Ginny, no!”

Harry dropped a plate and followed, hot on Mr. Weasley’s heels.

“Stop! George, stop it!” Ginny screamed as she ran, her exit out the front of the house putting her yards ahead of Bill and Ron, who put on a burst of speed when they saw her.

George sat on Percy’s thighs, fists punching anywhere he could reach. Ginny was right: although Percy’s arms were free, he made no effort to throw George off or even block the blows.

“George, stop it! Percy!”

“No, Ginny!” Bill lunged for her but missed.

“GEORGE FABIAN WEASLEY!” Ginny latched onto George’s arm with both hands but he shook her off easily, setting her square on her bum.

Bill, Ron, and Mr. Weasley were all yelling, but the three on the ground paid no attention. Having passed up Mr. Weasley as soon as they came out of the house, Harry was almost to Ginny when it happened. She got up, grabbed George’s arm again, and he turned. With a sickening _crunch _that echoed louder than everyone’s shouts, Ginny flew into the air, landed hard, and lay still.__


	29. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Bill saw it happen as if in slow motion but was powerless to stop it. George’s broad fist collided with Ginny’s delicate jaw. Her head snapped back even as she went airborne, arms and legs spread gracefully. She flew for an impossibly long time, her hair fanning out around her, and landed flat on her back. Bill had a split second to register that she wasn’t moving before time sped up again, and he saw Harry launch himself at George, knocking him off Percy, before scrambling up and running over to Ginny.

“You great buggering git!” Bill shouted, pulling George up by his shirt, then pushing him down again with a two-handed shove to the chest. “You bloody bullying bastard!”

“Bill!”

But Bill ignored his father and stood over George with fists clenched and raised. “Fight someone who fights back, why don’t you?”

George stayed on the ground, staring not up at Bill, but past him. _Ginny_. He turned to see Ginny’s form blocked by Harry and Ron, and Mum kneeling down beside her. A moan sounded at Bill’s feet.

“Percy!” He crouched beside him. _Shit_. Percy was a mess—his left eye swollen and already starting to bruise, both lips cut, his nose busted and bleeding everywhere, and a mark on his right cheek. Bill pulled his wand out of his pocket and began siphoning off the blood. “Percy!” he said urgently. “Perce, can you hear me?”

“For Godric’s sake, Bill, don’t shout.” Percy moaned and raised one hand to cover his eyes.

Bill breathed a little easier. At least Percy still recognized him, even with his eyes shut.

“Stay down,” Dad said sharply.

Bill looked up to find his father standing over George with one hand outstretched. George sat back, folding his legs and straining his neck to see what was happening with Ginny. Bill felt his anger flare up again and turned back to Percy.

“Can you sit up?”

“No. And don’t try to make me, either.” 

“Okay, just—“ Bill looked anxiously towards his mother. “Just lie still. I stopped the bleeding, but I’m not that great with healing spells. I think we’d better wait for Mum. She’s with Ginny right now.”

“What happened?” Percy opened and closed his mouth slowly, then gingerly moved it from side to side, wincing.

“She tried to get between you two and George hit her,” Dad said. His voice was tight with anger, and Bill realized Dad had told George to stay seated not because he was afraid of Bill’s temper, but his own.

Percy’s eyes opened for the first time, and he tried to sit up, leaning on one elbow. “Is she okay?”

“She got hit pretty hard,” Bill said. “You know Gin-Gin, she’s just a wee bit of a thing.” He sent his stocky brother an extra glare. Merlin, George had to have _five stone_ on her, at least.

“I didn’t know it was her,” George said. “I just—I was angry, and I just—“

“She yelled for you all the way across the garden,” Dad said. “What, you thought she was your mother?”

“I didn’t hear her,” George said, his voice hoarse. “I swear, I didn’t know it was her. You know I’d never hurt Ginny.”

“No, you just brought her to the Battle when she was still underage,” Percy said.

“But I brought her back,” George retorted, and the tension between the two ratcheted up again.

Then Dad cursed.

Mum had conjured a stretcher and was transferring Ginny onto it.

()()()()

Ginny was still out cold. The family sat around the kitchen table staring at their youngest member in the tensest, grimmest silence Bill could remember all summer, and that was saying something. Mum had sent Ron into the house to Floo-call St. Mungo’s and now they just sat here, waiting. 

It was certainly not the first time Ginny had been accidentally injured by one of her brothers. She had rolled off the changing table once with Percy, and got her head banged on the bath faucet by Ron during an energetic water fight, and once slid clean out of her nightdress and down half a flight of stairs when Bill was carrying her. She set her hair on fire in the twins’ birthday candles on their tenth birthday and blacked her eye on the doorknob when Charlie put a frog in her wardrobe that jumped right into her face. And all that had been before Bill left Hogwarts.

The fireplace flared green, and a witch about thirty stepped out. She sized up the room in one brief glance and extended her hand to Mum, who sat at Ginny’s head.

“Leah Jackson,” she said, setting her bag down in the space between Ginny and the edge of the table as Dad and Percy got up to make room for her. “And this young lady is….”

“Ginny. Ginny Weasley.”

“What happened?” Healer Jackson said, already waving her wand over Ginny’s form in a series of complicated figures.

“I hit her,” George said miserably. Then, when the Healer looked pointedly from him to Ginny and back, he added, “It was an accident.”

“Mmm. Well, she’s got a concussion, obviously,” she said, setting her wand down and running her hands over Ginny’s head. “But her vitals are excellent.”

“I think her jaw might be broken,” Mum said nervously.

“Yes, it is, but that’s easily fixed. I have some Skele-Gro in my bag.”

“Oh, we have some,” Mum said. “Arthur? I like to keep it on hand.”

Healer Jackson’s gaze traveled over Bill, Percy, George, and Ron before resting briefly on Harry. “Yes, I can see why,” she said with a trace of a smile. 

Dad closed the cupboard door and set the bottle of potion at the Healer’s right hand.

“Thank you. How long has she been out?”

Mum glanced at her watch. “A little over fifteen minutes.”

“Okay. Let me see that,” she said, turning around and reaching up to remove Percy’s ice pack.

“It’s fine.”

“The other half of your face doesn’t look fine, so if that’s the part you chose to ice, it must be even worse. Let me see. And for goodness’ sake, sit down before I need that ice pack for my own neck.”

She was short; about Mum’s height, maybe, but she managed to get Percy into a chair and the ice pack off his face with a minimum of fuss. She stepped close and bent forward, leaving Percy with his nose square between her tits. Not that there was anything to see, given that her lime-green robes started at her collarbones, but Percy closed his eyes. Ron caught Bill’s eye and smirked.

“I’m fine,” Percy insisted, his voice muffled in the Healer’s dangling sleeve. “Take care of my sister.”

“If she’s not awake by the time I’ve taken care of you, I will.”

“Healer Jackson—“ Dad began.

“Leah, please. ‘Healer Jackson’ makes people look round for my dad.” She continued prodding Percy’s nose. “Does this hurt?”

“No.”

“Frank Jackson?” Mum said.

“That’s him.”

“Why, he delivered Percy!”

The back of Percy’s neck, which had been pink ever since his close proximity to Leah, turned a bright red.

“Was he born on a Saturday night or a Sunday morning?” Leah asked, looking up, her hands still on Percy’s face, his face still in her chest.

Mum looked surprised. “Just before dawn on Sunday. How did you know?”

“Dad worked every Saturday night for years. He said the truly wild stuff only happened on Saturday nights. My mum always said he was a glutton for punishment.” 

“That’s Percy, the family wild child,” Ron said dryly.

Percy flung out one arm, which Ron sidestepped.

“What about this?” Leah said to Percy, now feeling around his left eye.

“No,” Percy said, but he jerked away. “Ow!” He put one hand over that side of his face and glared up at her.

“I did ask,” she said mildly.

“You didn’t have to push so hard.”

“You didn’t have to lie,” she answered. “I suppose you hit him too?” She looked at George again.

“That wasn’t an accident.”

Beside him, Bill felt Dad tense. Leah said nothing, just watched George for a moment, then tossed him Percy’s ice pack. “Hold that,” she ordered. She picked up her wand and in seconds erased all evidence of the fight from Percy’s face. “Mrs. Weasley, the Skele-Gro, please.”

“That’s for Ginny,” Percy said.

“I’m concerned you have a fractured orbit—the bones around your eye—and it’s easier to give you a dose of Skele-Gro now than for you to have problems later. Not to mention your ribs are bruised.” She laid a hand under Percy’s left arm and he flinched.

“Easier for you, maybe,” Percy grumbled.

Leah had pulled a medicine cup from her bag and held it at eye level to measure Percy’s dose. She paused and looked down at Percy without moving her hands. “Don’t tell me I’m going to have to wake your sister just so she can show you up.”

Percy’s mouth fell open in indignation, and Leah tipped the potion in. He sputtered and choked but swallowed, and Bill and Ron grinned.

“You have brothers, don’t you?” Bill said.

“Nope,” Leah said, using her wand to rinse the cup, then heat it and cool it for handling in quick succession. “Just a lot of stubborn male patients.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a piece of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum. 

Percy looked highly offended.

“It’s the best thing I’ve found to help with the taste. Seriously.”

“Ssit my turn yet?”

Everyone spun towards the table at Ginny’s words, but Leah didn’t look startled.

“I don’t know about that, miss,” she said lightly, bending over so Ginny could see her without moving. “What’s your name?”

“Ginny Wea’lee.”

“These brothers of yours have a nickname for you?”

“Gin-Gin.”

Leah glanced up briefly to see smiles on everyone’s faces.

“You mum tells me Percy was born on a Sunday morning. When would that have been?”

“Auguth twenny-thecon,” Ginny said thickly. “‘leven days aft’ me. D’fren’ year, though.”

Leah smiled. It transformed her features completely. “He gave me a bit of a hard time with my exam, but you’re not going to do that, are you?”

“Huh-uh.”

“I know your head and your jaw hurt. Anything else?”

“Table’s no’ very com’f’bl.” She was moving her jaw as little as possible.

“Well, we can fix that.” Leah cast what Bill assumed was a nonverbal cushioning charm, for Ginny visibly relaxed. “Where are you, Ginny?” Leah used the lighted tip of her wand to examine Ginny’s eyes.

“Home. Burrow. Kit-chen.” 

“Do you remember what happened?”

Her face clouded.

“It’s okay, Gin-Gin,” George said gently.

“Fight. Wou’n’ thtop, ’n’ I got hit. Acthden.”

“Yes, I know it was an accident.” She extinguished her wand. “Can you sit up for me?”

Ginny sat in one smooth, fluid movement, crossing her legs in front of her. 

“Very good,” Leah said.

It wasn’t until Bill heard the relief in her voice that he realized she had been worried. 

“Do you want the Skele-Gro first or last?”

Ginny held up one finger.

“Have you taken it before?”

“Sith brothers. Wha’ you think?” Ginny didn’t smile, but her eyes were dancing.

George twitched in his seat at the mistake, but Ginny didn’t notice.

Leah laughed again, hard enough she had to drop her hands and calm herself before pouring the rest of Ginny’s dose. Ginny swallowed the steaming potion in one gulp, made a highly unflattering face, and handed the cup back. After sterilizing it the same way she did the last time, Leah rummaged in her bag again and emerged with a Chocolate Frog. She broke off its head and gave it to Ginny.

“Let that melt in your mouth. It will help with the taste.”

Leah continued her exam, asking Ginny to do everything from naming objects she put in her palm to balancing on one foot with her eyes closed. At last, she turned to Mum and smiled. 

“Everything looks good. Someone should sleep with her tonight and tomorrow in case she has any problems. Him too,” Leah added, jerking a thumb in Percy’s direction. “But Ginny’s jaw will be good as new by morning, and that injury freezing charm you performed was spot-on.” She turned to Ginny. “Next time your brothers are fighting, I expect you to cast a good hex, young lady.”

Ginny nodded, one hand against her aching jaw. 

“Listen, we, uh—“ 

Bill started, having forgotten about Harry.

“We would really appreciate it if none of this appeared in the _Daily Prophet_ tomorrow,” Harry said quietly. It appeared he was trying to slip something into Leah’s hand.

“If none of what appeared?” Leah said blankly.

Harry looked very uncomfortable. “You know, this.” He waved his hand towards the table, then held it toward Leah again, and Bill saw the gold glint of a galleon.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Leah said formally. “If you’re asking me who I’ve treated this weekend, I can’t give you that information. It’s confidential.” She looked Harry straight in the eye and waited, and finally, he gave her a small smile.

“What do we owe you, Healer Jackson?” Dad pulled his moneybag out of his robe pocket. “I don’t carry much with me, but we have some extra stashed—“

“Oh, yes.“ Mum got up from the table.

“You don’t owe me anything, Mr. Weasley.”

Dad looked confused. “But you treated two of my children. One of whom was significantly injured. Just let me know—“

“It’s nothing, really.”

“But that’s just nonsense,” Mum said, returning with the jar that contained her household money. “We haven’t had to have anyone to the house in years, thankfully, but I remember the house call fee used to be—“

“No, really,” Leah said, looking embarrassed. “Please. It was my pleasure.”

“It’s your job,” Bill said. “You deserve to be paid for it.”

“How many heroes are in this room?” She paused, looking from one person to another. “You don’t owe me anything.” 

And while they still stared open-mouthed at her, she stepped into the Floo and disappeared.


	30. Chapter Twenty-Nine

At the sound of a soft knock, Harry looked up from Ginny’s hand in his to see George standing in the open doorway.

“How is she?” he whispered.

“Asleep,” Harry said shortly, turning back to his girlfriend.

“She looks uncomfortable.”

Indeed she did, with her brow furrowed, her mouth downturned, and a purplish bruise spreading along her swollen jawline.

“Ever taken Skele-Gro? It hurts.”

“Yeah.” George swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“Tell it to her.”

“I will.”

Ginny’s clock ticked on her desk behind Harry. Mrs. Weasley would be back soon, and he would have to leave.

“Do you—do you want to get something to eat or anything? I’ll sit with her for a while.”

“No, thank you.” Harry’s words were polite; his tone was not. 

The silence stretched again, tenser still for its rarity. 

Harry watched the steady rise and fall of Ginny’s breathing. When she hadn’t moved—when she had lain so still—he had thought, just for a second— His worst fear, that something would happen to Ginny….

Harry finally looked up at George. “You do know the only reason I haven’t hexed you is I think she’ll be pissed at me?”

He nodded. 

“I still might decide it’s worth it.”

“I swear, I didn’t know it was her. I’d _never_ have hit her if—“

“You were sober?” 

George opened his mouth, then closed it. His entire posture slumped as he stared at the floor between his feet.

“Why do you think everyone’s been nagging you? It’s because you become someone else when you’re drinking, George. Someone nobody particularly likes to be around.”

George darted glances at his sister, his bruised right hand flexing by his side.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “You’ll—if there’s anything she needs….”

Harry didn’t bother replying, and after a few moments, George left the room.

()()()()

“You’re leaving?” Percy, who was leaning against the worktop waiting for the kettle to boil, looked up in surprise.

“I need to check on Fleur,” Bill said. She had insisted it was nothing more than a summer cold, but he stayed longer than he had planned. 

Percy brushed a piece of lint off his robes. “I thought maybe … the Healer said….”

Bill picked up the flowerpot from the mantel. “Why would I stay with you when I could sleep with Fleur instead? Even in the literal sense, that’s a no-brainer.”

“I just thought … sometimes….” 

Sometimes, when multiple children were sick, Mum had asked Bill to sleep with Percy or the twins while she stayed with Ron and Ginny.

“She’ll just put you in Ginny’s room and sleep in there with you both,” Bill said.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Percy said, batting away a lingering blue bubble. Not even Percy could resist blowing bubbles with Drooble’s Best.

“It’s two nights, Perce. You’ll survive.”

“Mum will hover for a hell of a lot more than two nights.”

“You should have fought back,” Bill said mildly.

Percy shook his head and faced the cooker, turning up the flame. 

“Nobody expects you to take a beating, Percy. You know that, right?”

Percy pressed his lips together, looking mutinous. The kettle whistled and he busied himself making a cup of tea.

“I don’t care if you think you deserved it,” Bill said, his frustration with both his brothers returning with speed. “George has been treating you like shit ever since you came back, and it needs to stop.”

Percy pushed his glasses up his nose. “He’s angry, and he has a right to be. Let it alone, Bill.”

Bill clenched his jaw but bit back his retort. “Come over after work on Tuesday. It’ll get you away from Mum, and Fleur and I will let you go to your flat afterwards. Besides, Charlie’s coming on Wednesday. That will distract her for a couple of days.”

Percy sipped his tea and gave a curt nod.

With a casual flick of his wrist, Bill started a fire and threw the Floo Powder in. “Enjoy your stay in the nursery, Perce.” He smirked and stepped into the emerald-green flames.

()()()()

Harry came downstairs on Tuesday morning to find Ron at the kitchen table in an old Hogwarts robe with the house patch removed.

“Robes?” 

Ron swallowed what looked like half a slice of toast. “We are wizards, applying for a wizarding job in the center of wizarding government. I know you think it’s all a done deal, but it might be good to look the part.”

“I don’t even know if I have any robes that fit.” Harry began loading his plate with eggs, toast, and bacon.

Ron grimaced. “I had to lengthen these a bit.” He brightened. “One of my old robes might fit you. Like from third year, maybe.”

Harry flicked a piece of scrambled egg in his direction. Ron grinned.

“Careful, I worked hard on those.”

“You did?” Harry asked, used to a breakfast that was cooked by Ginny or Mrs. Weasley or occasionally himself.

“Hermione really is a shit cook.”

Harry laughed.

()()()()

Harry and Ron accepted their wands back from the watchwizard, passed through the golden gates, and waited for a lift. It arrived promptly and discharged a tiny wrinkled witch, two wizards, and a bloke with snow in his hair and on the shoulders of his navy blue robes. 

“Hope he managed to fix the atmospheric charms,” Ron muttered as they stepped onto the lift, ignoring the stares from the elderly witch and the man from Magical Maintenance. “Where are we going?”

Harry pushed the button for level two and raised an eyebrow. “Auror Headquarters?”

“Are you sure? It was Kingsley who offered us a job. Maybe we should go to his office. Or it could be Robards’s or an assistant in the Auror office.”

Harry stared at him, having not considered the matter in detail. “Er—“ He felt in his pockets for his application packet and scanned it. “Here it is,” he said, as the disembodied voice announced the third floor and pale violet paper airplanes flew in. “All applications are to be returned to Helen Pruska, Assistant to the Head of the Auror Academy.”

“Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services.”

Harry and Ron walked down the corridor and pushed open the heavy oak doors into Auror Headquarters. The room appeared much the same as Harry remembered from three years before—except now there were several empty cubicles, each draped with a band of black cloth. 

“Can I help you?” He was a clean-cut, wiry man, taller than Harry but shorter than Ron, with dark curly hair that flopped over his forehead and sharp hazel eyes that traveled from their faces, to Harry’s scar, to the silver visitors’ badges proclaiming their status as Auror applicants. He extended a hand. 

“Ben Matthews,” he said, shaking first with Harry, then Ron, allowing them to state their names as if he didn’t know who they were. “Helen’s that way—through the doors on your right.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, then winked. “Careful, she bites.”

Any confusion generated by this statement was immediately dispelled upon their first glimpse of Helen Pruska. A short, spare woman with salt-and-pepper hair, Mrs. Pruska guarded the rooms behind her with all the aplomb of a general on a conquered battlefield. Stationed just inside a standard set of doors, her desk sat squarely in the center of the hallway, forcing anyone who entered to pass in the narrow space to either side. She pinned Harry and Ron with a beady-eyed stare eerily reminiscent of Professor McGonagall.

“Yes? You barged in here, now what do you want?”

“Er, sorry,” Harry said quickly. It had never occurred to him to knock; the solid door without window or nameplate had given no indication there was a private space beyond. “We’re here to turn in our Auror applications. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.” 

“Sit down,” Mrs. Pruska said, opening a drawer and pulling out two fat envelopes. 

There were no chairs in sight.

She frowned when she looked up to find them still standing. “Well? Can’t you do a conjuring spell?”

Harry and Ron hastened to demonstrate their competence. Ron’s chair creaked slightly as he sat.

“We have our packets already,” Harry said as she pulled out a stack of parchment from the first envelope. “We’ve already filled everything out.”

“Except the risk acknowledgement and use of deadly force form,” Ron said, laying his own application on the desk beside Harry’s. “The instructions said they had to be witnessed by a member of the department.”

Mrs. Pruska’s brusque demeanor did not change, but some of the tension around her mouth eased. “Including all the supporting documentation? Apparition licenses, certificates of birth, criminal background checks?”

Harry and Ron nodded at each question.

“Medical waiver signed by a licensed Healer? Official O.W.L. scores? Wand registration? Consent to Veritaserum for consideration of employment? Names and contact information for non-familial references?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they chorused. 

“Helen, please,” she said absently, picking up Harry’s packet and rifling through it. “Wait here,” she ordered.

So. Even the assistant to the Academy Head already knew they had been exempted from the usual N.E.W.T. requirements. And they had _most_ of the documentation. References were rather sparse since four of their six Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers were dead, the fifth resided permanently at St. Mungo’s, and the sixth awaited trial. Harry was counting on the Minister of Magic and the Headmistress of Hogwarts to suffice.

Harry and Ron waited quietly, not daring to peek at the contents of the envelopes or even speak. Helen definitely seemed the type of person to make good use of an eavesdropping charm.

“Head Auror Robards will see you now.”

They exited Helen’s domain, passed through an outer office manned by another assistant, and entered a comfortably-appointed room. Gawain Robards came out from behind his massive desk to greet them.

“Please, sit down.”

No need to conjure them; two squat, heavy black leather chairs flanked the desk. Robards resumed his seat.

“You’ve taken your time,” he observed. “The other boys from Hogwarts applied months ago.”

“I just got back from Australia a week ago, sir,” Ron said, glancing at Harry. “We spent most of last week gathering the proper records.”

“Shacklebolt tells me you two won’t be starting with the rest of the recruits on Saturday.”

“No, sir,” Harry said. “On September second.” 

Ron fidgeted.

Robards studied the two of them for a moment, then said, “I will allow that on two conditions. The delayed start date and the lack of N.E.W.T.s are the last consideration this department gives you in light of your previous accomplishments. From here on out, any progress you make, any status you’re given, will be earned. Fail to meet the requirements at any stage of your training and you’re out, just like anyone else. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re shorthanded and can use all the help we can get, but it has to be competent help,” Robards said gruffly. 

“What’s the second condition?” Harry asked.

“The two of you and Hermione Granger sit down with me and Kingsley for a private debriefing of your activities over the last year.”

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

“We’ll have to discuss that with Hermione,” Ron said.

“Do that. I understand she’s returning to Hogwarts?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I expect to see the three of you before September first. You can make an appointment with my assistant.” Robards opened a file. “See Helen on your way out to schedule your interviews,” he said. “Dismissed.”


	31. Chapter Thirty

It was just after dinner, and Charlie and Bill had escaped from the crowded sitting room to the Burrow’s roof with two Butterbeers and the leftover dessert, which had already disappeared.

“You know how you’re always saying you get the worst older brother jobs?” Charlie said.

“It’s true.”

“I didn’t get to tell you last trip.” Charlie waited for Bill to take a drink. “Ginny asked me how she could convince Harry to sleep with her.”

Bill inhaled, choked, sputtered, and coughed. Charlie sat back on his elbows, enjoying the spectacle.

“What the bloody—“ cough— “hell?” 

“She said Tonks had told her that I was her first and wanted to know how I knew she wanted it.”

“Not that,” Bill said, brushing the wetness off his shirt. “Why did you have to make me spill my drink? Fleur’s been complaining about all the stains and tar on my clothes every time we come up here.”

“I bet Mum could get them out.”

Bill winced. “I made the mistake of suggesting that she ask her.”

“I thought they got along now, since….“ Since Bill had been attacked by a werewolf.

“They do. Mostly. But you know how Mum mothers everybody, and with Fleur being between Percy and the—and George in age, I think Fleur doesn’t want Mum to think she can’t take care of things on her own.”

“Take care of you, you mean.” Charlie smirked.

Bill gave a noncommittal grunt.

“Any regrets?”

“About Fleur? None.”

“No, not Fleur, prat.” Charlie rolled his eyes. Who would regret Fleur? “I meant marriage.”

Bill, whose voice was still hoarse, took one cautious sip, then another. “Not getting married, no. There are some things—if I could go back and live this first year over, there are definitely some things I would do differently.”

“You two haven’t exactly had the conventional newlywed experience.”

Bill snorted. “We still haven’t taken a honeymoon.”

Charlie laughed. “No, you just live alone in a cottage by the sea with no neighbors for miles.”

“ _Touché_.”

“When do I get to add the title of Best Uncle in the World to my list of accomplishments?”

“Not for a while, I think.” Bill balanced his Butterbeer bottle on his chest. “So much has happened, and as you said, it hasn’t been an ordinary year. Just settling in and going to work and learning how to mesh our lives together, that’s enough for now. Any interesting women in Romania?”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Charlie said, pointing his bottle accusingly. “Just because you’re happily married doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be.”

Bill held up his hands. “I’m just saying. You meet a witch who makes you think about settling down, you should—well, think about it.”

“I think Amy’s thinking about it.”

Bill, who had been just about to finish off his drink, slopped the remainder down his front. “Dammit, Charlie! And whatever happened to ‘just friends’?”

“Oh, Merlin, not with me!” Charlie said, horrified. “Some bloke from home she met at a training conference last year. She’s been going back at every opportunity.”

“Really? She didn’t even go home for Christmas the first year she was in Egypt. I got the impression she and her parents weren’t that close.”

“Home as in the States, not where she grew up. Her latest excuse was some national holiday earlier this month.”

Bill stared. “Amy went home for a national holiday?”

Charlie shrugged.

“Have you checked him out?”

Of course he had. Amy had no brothers. 

“Tonks helped me last winter when Amy mentioned they had been talking. He’s thirty-two, left school in New Orleans with top marks, started at Gringotts in the accounting department and worked his way up to head loan officer at—I forget where, exactly. Somewhere cold, all the photos of her first trip had snow in them.”

“And?”

“He’s Muggle-born, like her. Floo-calls regularly, comes to see her, buys her nice stuff. And if he’s ever made her cry, I haven’t heard about it.”

“Lucky him.”

Charlie knew Bill was remembering the fights they’d had over Amy several years ago. “Hell, yes. I told her if she doesn’t bring him to the Reserve or Floo me the next time he’s in Cairo, I’m making a trip across the pond.”

“I bet that went over well.”

Charlie grinned. “Let’s just say I’m glad there were a thousand miles between us at the time.”

Bill twirled his empty bottle on its base. “Is she happy?”

“Disgustingly so.” Charlie took a closer look at his brother’s profile. “I thought you had no regrets?”

“Just because I wasn’t in love with her doesn’t mean I don’t care about her. We were friends. Good friends. And she helped with Ginny, after….”

Charlie emptied his drink. “I remember.” 

“She gave more than fifty of her own galleons to bribe the goblins.”

Charlie whistled. “I didn’t know that.”

“No one knows that.”

“Speaking of galleons, where’s George? I thought he’d be here. Do you think he lost track of the days again?”

Bill winced. “He and Percy fought on Sunday. Or more accurately, Percy let George beat the shit out of him.”

“What!”

“And broke Ginny’s jaw when she tried to stop him.”

“ _Percy_?”

“No, not Perce, George. I told you—Percy didn’t fight back.” 

Charlie didn’t realize he had made to get up until he felt Bill’s hand on his arm pulling him down. 

“He feels bad enough about that, Charlie. You don’t need to add to it.”

Charlie was not at all convinced. “George hit Ginny? Hard enough to break her jaw?”

“Knocked her out cold. Said he didn’t realize it was her—she just ran up and grabbed him. Ron and I couldn’t get to her in time.”

“Shit. And Percy didn’t fight back?”

Bill shook his head. “His face was totally messed up. The Healer said she thought he’d broken the little bones around his eye, bruised his ribs. Treated both of them with Skele-Gro.”

“Shit,” Charlie said again. They’d certainly had their share of broken bones and injuries growing up, but nothing _malicious_. He collapsed back against the slope of the roof. “George blames him for Fred’s death.”

“Yeah. He does,” Bill said heavily.

Charlie was quiet for a minute. “Was it his fault?”

“It was a freak accident. They were dueling in a hallway and a spell hit the side of the castle, exploding the wall. Everyone was thrown, but Fred got the worst of it.”

“Does George know that?”

“I don’t think he cares. Percy promised him—when they split up, Percy promised him he’d bring Fred back.”

Charlie sighed. “Shit. What the hell are we going to do about those two?” 

“Last week I would have said lock them in a room and let them sort it out between themselves, but now….”

“Do you think they’ve talked about it yet? The fight?”

Bill snorted. 

“What?”

“You sound like a girl.”

“Shut up.” Charlie punched him in the arm. “We could still lock them in a room.”

“Not until I’m convinced Percy will fight back,” Bill said, flexing and extending his fingers, trying to shake off the burning numbness. “He’s been entirely too accepting of George’s shit this summer.”

Charlie hummed. So, it hadn’t been his imagination.

“They haven’t done it yet?” Bill said.

“Who done what?”

“Ginny and Harry,” Bill said, nodding towards the couple walking back to the house. “They’ve been ‘flying’ for three months.”

Charlie grimaced. Bill was supposed to be amusingly appalled, not genuinely curious. 

“Not as of three weeks ago, at least. But considering she goes back to Hogwarts in a month and they both have birthdays before then, I’d say it’s imminent.”

“Leave it to Gin-Gin to pick someone who’s impossible to hate,” Bill muttered.

“He’s a good kid,” Charlie admitted. 

“Bit hard to see him as the Chosen One, eh?”

“It’s not that, it’s just … hard to think of Ginny dating the Chosen One.”

“I don’t know. He seems to be good for her,” Bill said. “When he’s not pissing her off or making her cry.”

“You’re singing a different tune.”

“Ron was right—it does help to see them together. Have you noticed how he leaves the two of them alone?”

“I thought that had more to do with Ginny and Hermione,” Charlie said. “I wouldn’t cross both of them. Even George is wary of Hermione.”

“Hermione is a hell of a witch,” Bill said. “I saw her practicing with Bellatrix Lestrange’s wand when they were at Shell Cottage. I’d be happy to recommend her for curse breaker training, if she’s interested.”

“I haven’t talked with Ron about her since before they left for Australia. He said anything to you?”

“Oh, they’re sleeping together. I’m still missing a tent.”


	32. Chapter Thirty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm playing on the American meaning of "got off" simply because that scene absolutely cracked me up the first time I read OotP. (Our definition is a bit more ... involved.) The next update, AKA tomorrow in story time, will be Harry's birthday :D

“Mr. Weasley!” George’s shop assistant appeared around a display.

Charlie affected a pose, hands over his heart and lower lip turned out. “Verity, I’m starting to think you don’t even remember my name. And here I’ve been in love with you all summer.”

“He’s on the other side of the shop, Charlie,” the young witch said dryly.

Charlie grinned at her and waited for her reluctant smile in return before seeking out his brother. George pulled down two Skiving Snackboxes for a boy too short to reach them, spotting Charlie as he turned back around. 

Charlie held up the bag of food. “Got a minute?”

“Verity, I’m going to lunch!” George shouted. A black top hat waved above the shelves two aisles over.

George led them to the back of the shop and past the counter, where a young black man wrapped bright pink potion bottles for a middle-aged witch.

“Hi, Charlie.”

“Hello, Lee.” Charlie mouthed a thank-you behind George’s back and followed him into the private area of the shop, expecting they would eat at the small table wedged into a corner. 

George caught his expression as he started up the stairs. “It’s not safe to eat back here. Can’t mix food and potions—surely Snape taught you that?”

Well, at least George wasn’t completely careless. 

“The shop looks good.” Charlie had been pleased to see new window displays. Skiving Snackboxes, Self-Inking and Spell-Checking quills, trick wands, and Headless Hats like the one Verity had used to acknowledge George’s announcement were arranged to attract the attention of the hundreds of pupils who would be pouring into Diagon Alley in the coming weeks. The inside of the shop was much improved since Charlie had last seen it too; not as tidy as last summer, but the boxes in the aisles had been replaced with customers.

“Ron’s been a lot of help this week.”

Charlie stopped dead just inside the door of George’s flat. “Ron did this?” Not only was it neat, it was _clean_. Floors shined, worktops gleamed, windows sparkled.

George scoffed, crossing to the tiny galley kitchen. “Nah. Angelina, I think.”

“You think?” 

He shrugged one shoulder. “Didn’t see her.”

“You should,” Charlie said, setting the food on the table and beginning to divide it. “And make it nice. This is more than an hour or two of work, even in a flat this small.”

George set drinks on the table, and they settled down to eat. George didn’t mention the fight so neither did Charlie. He kept up a running commentary of events at the dragon reserve until George wadded his empty fish and chips wrapper into a ball and pitched it into the bin. 

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“For what?”

“For not saying anything. I know Bill told you.”

“Come over tonight. You don’t have to come for dinner,” Charlie said, holding up a hand to stop George’s protest. “Make it later. Just say hi to mum and then come outside. We’ll be up on the roof.”

George nodded once and returned to the shop.

()()()()

Charlie took the Firewhisky from its unofficial place in front of George and refilled Ron’s glass, then his own. Bill and Percy, who had to work tomorrow, were drinking Butterbeer, but Charlie didn’t have to be back at the Reserve until Saturday. His coworkers were great; they had worked out a rotating schedule to cover his shifts so he could come home for a couple of days every two or three weeks. 

This was his third visit home, and he was remembering why he didn’t do this that often. By the time he worked four or five days in a row, took the Floo Network home, hung out with the family, and traveled back to Romania, it was time to put in another week’s work. It was exhausting, but it was temporary. He would come back for Ginny’s and Percy’s birthdays next month, maybe try to make one four day trip sometime in the autumn instead of these crazy two-day visits, and hopefully be able to get some time around Christmas or New Year’s. It made him tired just thinking about it.

But it was worth it. All his brothers (he still wasn’t used to counting four and thinking _all_ , but the fact remained, it was now all) were on the roof tonight. Somehow Percy had grabbed the best spot against the side of the kitchen chimney, gesturing as he went on to Bill about some “ridiculously short-sighted policy” at the Ministry but not spilling a drop of Butterbeer. Ron and George discussed the shop. Percy and George ignored each other, but they were being polite about it. Other than the trip to Egypt, this summer was the most time Charlie had spent with his brothers since the summer he was seventeen, and while he hated the cause, he was determined to take advantage of it. 

Fred had never been to the Reserve. Ginny had come that first Christmas with Mum and Dad, and Bill had come up from Egypt, but Percy, Fred, George, and Ron had been at Hogwarts. Even after Fred and George left school, they had been busy with their joke shop, and international travel was dangerous. Fred would have loved the Reserve; he had whooped and carried on when Charlie received his acceptance letter. Fred would have loved the dragons and the flying and the different culture, but he would never get to see it. 

Charlie was determined not to make the same mistake twice; he was not going to look back in ten or twenty or a hundred years and wish he had spent more time with his family. He took another drink, content to let the conversations ebb and flow around him without joining in. 

Movement at the edge of the orchard caught Charlie’s eye; Harry and Ginny were walking back from one of their late-night flying sessions. Charlie lifted his glass again, sighing when he realized it was empty. He had no doubts that Harry and Ginny were really flying; both of them were excellent fliers, and both of them loved to fly. But he also had no doubts that flying was not the only thing happening in the seclusion of the trees, especially given his conversation with Ginny last time. He didn’t need to be at the Burrow every day to see those two were arse over elbow for each other. Ginny and Harry had passed out of sight for a few minutes (presumably to return their brooms to the shed), but now that they were closer to the house, Charlie could see them clearly. Harry was carrying her shoes, and— 

Ginny was wearing his shirt. 

Harry seemed to sense he was being watched, dropping her hand to slide his around her waist and pull her against him as he looked around, then up. Charlie recognized the possessive, protective movement; he had seen Dad do that with Mum countless times when they were in a crowd. Harry’s eyes met Charlie’s, but his posture didn’t change, nor did he seem to alert Ginny to their audience. So, it was like that, eh?

“Oi, Potter, get your hands off my sister and your skinny arse up here!” Ron had noticed them too.

Harry and Ginny both made a rude gesture and disappeared again, under the porch roof this time. 

“Shh, we can listen in,” George said.

As is always the case when you’re trying to be quiet, everything suddenly became funny. Percy shifted and kicked his Butterbeer bottle, which began rolling down the slope of the roof. Bill made an awkward lunge for it, requiring Ron to grab the belt of his trousers and pull sharply to keep him from sliding off, which Bill protested with a yelp. Charlie shushed his brothers as Harry’s and Ginny’s voices, though quiet, carried up to them.

“… time tonight,” Ginny said.

“Me too.”

Soft kissing noises. And some more … and again. Damn Ron; Ginny hated to be told what to do and was rubbing their noses in it. George reached out over the roof of the stoop and pounded a rhythm with his hands, but neither Harry nor Ginny gave him the satisfaction of a response.

“Same time tomorrow?” Ginny asked.

“Uh-huh.”

Every wizard on the roof grimaced at Harry’s dreamy tone.

“Bring a broomstick this time, okay?” 

She was amused; she had the upper hand and knew it. Charlie heard the back door open.

“Er, Ginny?”

“Yes?”

“Can I have my shirt back?”

()()()()

Harry turned his shirt right-side out, pulled it over his head, and concentrated on the spot Ron’s voice had come from.

“Bloody hell, Harry— gerroff!”

“Oi, watch the alcohol!”

“Watch your hands!”

“All of you, watch it,” Bill said sharply, levitating the drinks high above the chaos. “This was a lot easier when there were only two of us.”

They settled in a rough semi-circle, Bill, Percy, and Ron all with long legs folded to make room. Ginny had specifically asked Harry to be nice to George, so he sat between him and Ron. George looked surprised but said nothing. 

“How was your fly?” Ron said, smirking.

Harry hesitated, glancing at George before replying. “I forgot my broomstick,” he lied, and the brothers sniggered.

“So, you both rode hers, then,” Charlie said, handing Harry a drink.

Harry eyed it, trying to determine if he was being set up, but Charlie’s smile seemed genuine. “Actually, neither one of us likes not being in control of the broomstick, so we didn’t fly.” By design—it had only been four days, and Harry still didn’t want her in the air. So far he’d managed to keep his real motive hidden from her.

George groaned. “Harry, can’t you lie occasionally? It’s difficult enough to pretend nothing’s happening between the two of you when you’re walking around in the middle of the night in each other’s clothes. Now I can’t even assume they got blown that way while flying.”

“You used to be supportive of the idea.”

George sat up straight. “When the _hell_ was this?”

“Three years ago … in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place….” Harry looked at Ron, whose brow furrowed in thought.

“I had that hearing for—“

Ron burst out laughing.

“—using magic to repel Dementors, remember?”

“I remember the hearing, but— oh, bloody hell!” 

Harry was pleased to see George laugh, a genuine laugh without any of his recent black humor.

“What? I don’t get it,” Percy said.

“Fred and George—“

“And Ginny,” Harry added. That was the most important part.

“And Ginny,” Ron said, “when they found out Harry had— had—“

“Had got off,” George said, mouth twitching. 

That set Ron off again, and Bill and Charlie started to chuckle too.

“When they found out I was cleared of all charges, they danced around the kitchen singing, ‘He got off, he got off, he got off!’ “

All the Weasleys were laughing now, but Percy raised an eyebrow. 

“What? I was fifteen.” Harry grinned, and reluctantly, Percy grinned back.

“Bloody hell, Harry, I’d forgotten about that,” George said.

“You were pretty insistent about it, as I recall. Carried on all through lunch.”

“You said you didn’t fancy her then,” Ron said. “When Sirius and Lupin asked, you said—“

“I didn’t fancy her then. But she’s always been beautiful.”

“So, Ron, how was Australia? And Hermione?” Charlie said.

Harry had made an ally, and surprisingly, it wasn’t his best mate. He knew Charlie had seen him and Ginny, had realized they weren’t … completely put together, but he wasn’t giving Harry a hard time about it. Harry hadn’t meant to show off, had simply reacted instinctively when he sensed they were being watched. 

Was that it? Had Charlie realized Harry would take care of Ginny not because he would be attacked if he didn’t, but simply because he cared about her? It felt good to be trusted. Ron trusted him, but he still liked to give Harry and Ginny a hard time. And this was different. Harry and Charlie didn’t know each other that well, didn’t have years of friendship to draw on. 

It almost made up for having to share Ron’s room again.

()()()()

Ginny stared at her signature on Harry’s birthday card. _Love, Ginny_. Well, of course she loved Harry. She had loved him since … she wasn’t sure really, couldn’t pinpoint the transitions of childhood crush to friendship to love. If she hadn’t loved Harry before that epic Gryffindor/Ravenclaw match, she fell in love with him in the weeks following. But she hadn’t told him yet, and was a card really the best way to go about it? Granted, it was a birthday card, not some random correspondence, but….

She kept staring at her own loopy handwriting. _Happy eighteenth, Harry! Love, Ginny_. She hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t even realized that’s what she wrote when she signed this card days ago. So natural, so instinctive; wish Harry a happy birthday and give him her love. Could it really be that simple? 

Ginny knew she was in love with Harry; she was reasonably certain—mostly—that he was in love with her, but despite the nightly flies and long talks in the orchard, despite the shared kisses and increased intimacy, neither one of them had said it. She didn’t want to pressure him by saying it first, just in case he wasn’t sure or wasn’t comfortable saying it. She knew if she said it first, Harry would feel obligated to say it back and guilty if he couldn’t. So, she tried to show her feelings in other ways. 

Was this one of them? 

She blew out a breath and shoved the card away from her. She was thinking too much. It was just a birthday card. She signed cards with her love all the time. Hermione probably signed Harry’s cards the same way. If anyone said anything about it, Ginny could—

What, pretend it wasn’t true? The very idea made her stomach knot, and hadn’t she kept staring at the word because as nervous as it made her to see it in black and white, she couldn’t bear the thought of erasing it? Of pretending she wasn’t in love with Harry? It was hard enough to silence the words when she was in his arms. She didn’t want to erase them. Besides, love from your best friend who just happened to be a girl wasn’t the same as love from the girl you were snogging. While both sentiments could be true and sincere, it wasn’t the same, and Ginny didn’t want to pretend that it was. She stuffed the card in its envelope, sealed it, and wrote Harry’s name on the front with a flourish.

Love it is.


	33. Chapter Thirty-Two

The back door opened. Ginny shrieked and threw her arms around Hermione, who laughed and hugged her back.

“I missed you so much! You have to tell me everything,” Ginny said.

“I will, I promise. I missed you too. You look nice. Gorgeous, actually.”

Ginny glanced down at her favorite green blouse, skirt, and sandals. She’d done her makeup too. “Cheers.” She peered into the oven to check the treacle tart. Fleur was arranging the table outside and had asked for it.

“You look busy, so I’ll just—“

“Ron’s in his room, agonizing over which shirt to wear. Go on, I’ll see you later.”

“Thanks, Ginny.” Hermione set Harry’s gift on the kitchen table and left the room, her heels tapping a quick rhythm on the wood floors.

“Was that Hermione?” Mum came in empty-handed and picked up two more dishes to carry to the tables outside.

“Yes, she just went upstairs to say hi to Harry and Ron.”

“Hagrid just arrived, and Bill and Percy are here. Call the three of them down to dinner. Andromeda and Teddy will be here any minute, and we’ll eat as soon as your dad is home.”

“Okay, Mum.” Ginny glanced at the clock. Dad’s hand still pointed to “work.” She would wait until it moved to “traveling” before interrupting Ron and Hermione. 

Dinner was fabulous, despite the missing guests from last year. Everyone fawned over Mum’s cooking; Harry, Ron, and Hermione were obviously delighted to be together again; Harry was ridiculously pleased with all his gifts, as usual; and George brought fireworks. Bill and Charlie even offered to do the washing up, so twilight found Ginny dangling her feet in the pond with Harry on one side and Hermione and Ron on the other.

“Hermione, how are your parents?” Harry said.

“Pretty good. They’re going back to work on Monday. It will take a few weeks for Mum’s and Dad’s schedules to fill up, so it will be just new patients and emergencies for a while. I think Mum misses the beach and the weather, but she doesn’t complain.”

“How are you and your parents getting along?” Ginny said, mindful of Ron’s words at the train station.

Hermione sighed. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I leave my wand in my wardrobe because if I have it with me, I tend to do magic by habit, and they stiffen up every time they see it. They’re not thrilled about me going back to Hogwarts this year, but when I explained I want to sit my exams, I think they respect that. The hardest thing is they’re being really strict about magic in the house or even the garden. I had to walk down to the square and Disapparate from behind the post office tonight, and you know they won’t allow any owls in. I’m hoping they’ll change their mind about that after September, or we won’t be able to communicate at all.”

“You can send their letters to me by owl, and I’ll put them in the Muggle post,” Harry said. “I can get a postbox too, so they could post your letters to me to send on.”

Ginny squeezed his hand. He was so thoughtful.

Hermione smiled. “Thank you, Harry.”

“I’m sure they’ll let you owl,” Ron said. “Once they realize it’s the only way to communicate with you. You’ve been working so hard to rebuild your relationship.”

“I’m trying. I miss you all so much.”

“Well, we’ve been having a great time without you,” Harry said, kicking a gentle spray of water in Hermione’s direction. “No books, no visits to the library….”

“No mushrooms,” Ron said.

“Quidditch matches with people who can actually fly,” Ginny said.

They all laughed.

“We should go,” Ron said. “George asked me to help set up the fireworks.” He stood up and reached out for Hermione.

As soon as they were out of sight, Ginny and Harry exchanged smirks.

“It’s not that late,” Harry said.

“No, but if they’re to have time for a proper snog beforehand….”

“Speaking of which….“ Harry gave her his hopeful, please-come-play-with-me look.

“Everyone will expect you to be there for the fireworks.” Ginny turned and leaned back against him so that he put his arm around her. 

“We have time.”

“I’d rather not be interrupted.” She could almost _hear_ Harry turning that over in his mind. “What’s your favorite birthday?”

“What?”

“What’s your favorite birthday?” Ginny repeated. “And don’t say this one.”

He buried his face in her hair, loose around her shoulders. “This is a pretty good one. One I dreamed about last year.”

Ginny took a deep breath and squeezed the hand wrapped around her waist. “Me too.” Just to have Harry here was a gift.

“But my eleventh is pretty hard to beat.”

“You found out you were a wizard?”

“ _And_ met Hagrid, _and_ went to Diagon Alley for the first time, _and_ got my wand, _and_ found out about my parents’ vault at Gringotts. I knew Uncle Vernon wouldn’t pay for me to go to Hogwarts.”

“Well, I can see I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

“Last year’s present was brilliant.” Harry kissed down the side of her neck.

“I cried last year,” Ginny said without thinking.

He stopped. “I know. I’m sorry.”

She turned in his arms, laying one hand on his face. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a bad memory.”

“You’ll just have to make it up to me.”

Ginny was in the process of doing just that when it suddenly became much brighter, even behind her closed eyelids. She pulled away in time to see a translucent white otter take shape and stand up beside them. 

“We’re waiting for you, Harry,” it said in Hermione’s voice.

()()()()

Ginny pecked him on the mouth. “I’m going to change. Ten minutes.” 

Fireworks were still fading from the sky as she and Hermione slipped through the crowd and up the back steps of the Burrow. Mrs. Tonks had just left with a sleeping Teddy in her arms, and the party was breaking up into groups of twos and threes. Harry snagged one last piece of treacle tart and headed for the orchard. 

Ginny had given him a subscription to _Quidditch Weekly_ , but he was hoping that was just for show and his real present might be more along the lines of last year’s Birthday Kiss. Not that there was much that would be new in the way of kissing, not after this summer. Unless she chose a new place to kiss him….

Harry jerked his thoughts away from that idea. He was glad to have his best mate back, but sharing Ron’s room again did put a damper on what had become a regular wanking habit. The last thing Harry needed was more intense dreams of Ginny while sleeping feet from her brother. 

She had looked beautiful tonight. He hadn’t thought it would matter (Ginny was always beautiful), but when he had seen her with her lips painted and her big brown eyes outlined, her nice clothes and shoes, it made him feel … special, knowing she dressed up for him. She wore the same green blouse she had worn for his birthday party last year, and he had been looking forward to taking it off himself, to kissing the freckles on her chest and her tummy…. That had been a fantasy a year in the making and she ruined it. 

But maybe … maybe she had a new bra, one with lace or that sheer fabric he’d seen in Muggle adverts. Maybe instead of her kissing him somewhere new, he would get to kiss her. Ginny had said—when she started their Scars and Freckles game—she had said all he had to do was ask, but Harry hadn’t been quite bold enough to ask her to take off her bra or knickers. He wasn’t a coward, he was just being … respectful. He was staying in her parents’ home, at their expense, and he and Ginny were usually rather exposed in the orchard. Not that it wouldn’t be obvious they were fooling around if one of her brothers found them in their underwear, but at least she wouldn’t be naked. 

Harry closed his eyes. Oh, Merlin, a naked Ginny….

She had let him unhook her bra the last time he’d kissed her back. She had chosen the scar in the crook of his right arm, so he had told her about the rest of that night: discovering Professor Moody wasn’t really Moody and all about Winky and Barty Crouch. When it was over, and she asked what he wanted, he’d asked for her back again. She had turned around and pulled her t-shirt over her head, and when he had slipped his hands in the back pockets of her jeans and teased that he couldn’t see her whole back, she had taken those off too. He had run his hands over all that creamy smooth skin and kissed the back of her neck and down her spine. Ginny had lain down on the grass with her head on her folded arms, and Harry had thought it was such a pity that the peach band interrupted the perfect line of her back, and when she hadn’t protested him fiddling with the clasp, he unhooked her bra and pushed it to each side. But she had been lying on her stomach, and he hadn’t seen anything of her breasts, or touched them, and maybe tonight…. 

Wait, that was her, climbing through the hedge, and—yes! She wasn’t carrying broomsticks.

“Sorry,” Ginny said breathlessly. “Hermione wanted to make plans to meet in Diagon Alley to get our school things, and I couldn’t shake her without making Ron suspicious.”

“I think Ron is already suspicious. It’s my birthday.”

“Is it now? And I thought the party was for Ron and Hermione.” 

She crossed her wrists behind his neck and deepened the kiss immediately. Harry leaned into her touch, pulled her hips into his, and enjoyed the sensation of her entire body against him. He had learned not to hide his arousal from Ginny, that it didn’t scare her, that she wouldn’t scold or shame him. He even thought she might like it, because sometimes, like now, she made this little moaning sound and stepped closer, and he would widen his stance, surrounding her with his body, and she would sigh into his mouth. Harry returned her kiss, one hand just above her bum, the other wrapped in her hair and cradling her head, and he didn’t care if kissing was his only present, not if she was going to kiss him like this. She tasted of treacle tart _and_ Ginny, and he could stay like this forever. But she eased out of the kiss, nibbling on his lower lip, teasing it with her tongue.

“Let’s sit down,” she said.

“Mmm,” Harry said, sliding his tongue in her mouth again. “You taste delicious.”

She laughed. “I can’t—mmph—Harry….”

He slid his hands up the loose legs of her athletic shorts and cupped her bum in his hands and she stopped protesting. She pushed back into his hands, then pressed forward, like she couldn’t decide which sensation was better. Harry stroked her bottom and she turned into a squirming mass, rubbing into his hands, against his body, pushing her breasts into his chest. He dropped his hands and she clung tighter. He wedged his hands between them and pushed against her hipbones, giving himself a smidgen of breathing room, but he didn’t break the kiss.

The pressure of holding in the words built in his chest, and Harry wanted to tell her, but not yet. He wanted it to be special, and Ginny was changing the rhythm of the kiss, stroking his hair, his ears, doing all the little things she knew he liked, and he reached for the hem of her shirt.

But Ginny grasped his wrist, preventing him from pulling it up. Since she was still kissing him, sliding her mouth along his jaw, he tried with his other hand, but she grabbed that one too. 

“I don’t want to take my shirt off tonight,” she whispered in his ear, just before she sucked on his earlobe.

Harry felt his knees give way, and she shifted to brace his weight. His brain wouldn’t work properly, not when she was kissing around his ear like that, and he wanted her to keep doing it, and he wanted her to stop, because there was something wrong, something missing….

Ginny pulled him down, raining kisses on his face and neck and the open v of his shirt, and as his back hit the ground, Harry reached for her shirt again, but it wouldn’t come off. It took him several seconds to realize Ginny was holding the front of it down with one hand, and then it clicked.

She had never stopped him before.

They had been snogging in this orchard for almost three months, and Ginny had never once stopped him, or pushed his hand away, or protested any liberty he took. Harry sat up on one elbow.

“What’s wrong?”

Her quick breaths drew his attention to her chest. It looked different, as if.…

“Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t want to take my shirt off.”

He considered this, still staring at her chest. Definitely no bra. “Do you want to go in?”

“No.”

“You want to kiss with your shirt on.” He wanted to be absolutely clear; he had no desire to finally experience her Bat Bogey Hex.

“Yes, please.” She had a funny look on her face, like she was trying to tell him something. 

Harry had no idea what it was. Maybe she wanted him to touch her over her shirt instead of over her bra. But that didn’t make sense, it still wasn’t— 

She kissed him again, leaning over him, both forearms braced beside his shoulders. She smelled of flowers and Amortentia, and when she slid one leg between his, Harry decided it didn’t matter why as long as she kept on kissing him … because after kissing him every day for almost three months, Ginny was damn good at it. She didn’t protest when he put his hands on her back, or when he slid them lower. She even moaned a little when he traced the bare skin where her shirt had hiked up above her waistband, and finally he understood. She had never said he couldn’t touch her; she just said she didn’t want to take her shirt off. 

Harry broke the kiss, slipping both hands under her shirt and up her back. Slowly, he slid his hands around her rib cage, watching her face, waiting for her to stop him, but her only response when her bare breasts settled into his hands was a soft gasp and a smile.

“Happy birthday, Harry.”

()()()()

Ginny opened the door to her bedroom quietly, unsure if Hermione was asleep.

"You can turn on the light. I'm still awake."

"What was that bit about Diagon Alley?" Ginny said, kicking off her shoes and pulling her pajamas from under her pillow. "I was trying to get back to Harry."

"I know. I was just teasing.”

"You don't want to start with me, Hermione."

"Probably not," she conceded.

Ginny tossed her clothes in the hamper and crawled into bed. Hermione extinguished the light with her wand.

"You miss magic," Ginny said.

Hermione sighed. "Like you wouldn't believe."

They hadn't seen each other in more than two months; there was so much to say, neither girl knew where to start. Then Hermione said,

"We did it."

Ginny rolled over to face her even though she couldn't see Hermione’s face in the darkness. "When?"

"About a month ago."

"And?"

"It was—not perfect, but it was us. It was spontaneous and intense and he was really sweet and...." Hermione sighed again, dreamily this time.

Ginny smiled and bunched her pillow to prop herself up. "You sound happy when you talk about him."

"Mm-hmm. Sometimes I still can't believe it, that we really are together."

"He's not being a jerk? I haven't done my Bat-Bogey Hex in a while. I could use the practice.”

"Definitely nothing hex-worthy. He's still Ron, but—“

Ginny made a noise in her throat. They had a deal: Ginny would listen to Hermione talk about her boyfriend as long as she didn’t mention Ron’s name. 

"Sorry."

"Are you ... are you glad you did it?"

Hermione didn't answer right away. "Mostly. I knew—I was pretty certain it would happen in Australia, when we actually had time and privacy for the first time ever. But I wasn’t prepared for how it changed everything."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like tonight. There was a time when I could hang out with Ron and say goodnight and come downstairs to sleep with you. But now there are ... expectations."

"Oh. But aren't you—didn't you want to? I mean, you like it, right?"

"Yes! And tonight was fine, I wanted to, but I don't always want to … to do everything all the time. And he does."

"Wouldn't you have to work that out anyway? I mean, whenever you did it, you'd still have to decide...."

"I suppose so. But we used to do other stuff, you know? Walk the city at night, or just sit and talk about … anything. And he got hooked on this television show while we were at the hotel, and we would watch it together and make fun of all the characters. But now all he wants to do is ... that."

"Maybe it will wear off?"

Hermione laughed. "I'm not holding my breath. Maybe if we were spending all our time together still, but at this rate.... But enough about me. What about you and Harry?"

Ginny flopped onto her back. "There's nothing to tell.”

"You were gone even longer than I was. I know that's not true."

“He's treating me like I'll break if he touches the wrong spot.” A slight exaggeration, but nothing had really changed since that one time last week.

"Or someone will break him?" Hermione sounded amused.

"It's not funny."

"I highly doubt Harry is worried about your brothers. Ron's opinion matters the most to him, and they've already sorted that out."

“It’s not that, exactly. I don't know. I can’t explain it. _Harry_ can’t explain it. But everything we've done this summer has been because I initiated it."

"He's not protesting, is he?"

Not tonight. Tonight had been brilliant—once Harry caught on. “It’s different than last year. I mean, Harry has never pressured me, you know he wouldn't, but he did ... experiment a bit to see what he could get away with. And this summer, it's like I’m made of glass or something. Like—“ Ginny hesitated, considering how much she wanted to reveal. "Like he still hasn't forgiven me for what I said after the Battle. Like he doesn't trust me."

"Maybe he's not scared of you, but himself. Maybe he's scared of ruining things."

That’s what he had said that afternoon under the willow tree, but…. "How could he possibly think that would ruin things? I've done everything but straight-up ask!”

"Do you know the first time Harry said he loved me?"

Ginny leaned against the wall and drew her legs up. “I don’t know. After you were cursed in the Department of Mysteries, maybe?"

"He never has," Hermione said quietly. "Not even in letters. He always just signs his name."

Ginny stared through the darkness. "But—you've been friends for ages! Of course Harry loves you.”

"Exactly. Even though Harry has never told me he loves me, I know he does because he shows me all the time. Give him time, Ginny. No one means more to him than you do. He just doesn't know how to tell you."

"It's three words," Ginny grumbled. 

“They’re pretty big words when you've never heard them before. You think Ron goes around telling him he loves him? About the only time Harry lets me hug him is if I haven't seen him for weeks or he’s nearly died, but the two of you are always touching. Harry didn't grow up hearing he was loved every day like you did, and certainly not from half a dozen people. I don't think he's ever told anyone he loved them."

Ginny stared at Hermione's outline again. How could she have missed that? "I've been a prat."

"Have you said anything?"

"No, of course not. You know how he is. I didn’t want to make him feel like he had to say it back.”

"Then it's fine. Look at all the other things Harry does to show how much he cares about you. Look at everything he's done over the last year, the last two years. Give him time, Ginny. He'll say it when he's ready."

"What about ... the other thing? We only have a month before school starts.”

"Are you certain that’s what you want?“

"Don't patronize me, Hermione."

Rustling noises and the dark shape became vertical as Hermione sat up. "Okay, I'm sorry. I think you have two choices: wait for Harry to bring it up, which I really think is the best thing to do, or ambush him."

“I’ve tried that,” Ginny said sourly. “Besides, I want—I need to know it’s what he wants too."

"You want some kind of commitment from him before you go back to Hogwarts."

Ginny nodded. Hermione must have seen the movement, or sensed it, because she continued.

"He probably hasn't even realized the summer is almost over. Start talking about it, about going to Diagon Alley and N.E.W.T.s and Hogsmeade visits, and see what he says. You're going to have to be upfront about what you expect. He's not hurting your feelings on purpose."

"I know.” Ginny pushed her pillow behind her and wriggled into a more comfortable position. “Tell me about Australia. How did you find your parents?”


	34. Chapter Thirty-Three

Harry and Ron were halfway through breakfast the next morning when a rumpled Hermione entered the kitchen, bushy hair pulled back in a rough approximation of a ponytail and one hand stifling a yawn. Crookshanks followed at her heels. 

Ron stood to greet her, dropping a quick kiss on her mouth. “Bad night?”

Hermione shook her head. “Just a short one,” she said, accepting a cup of tea from Harry. “We were up talking for hours.” 

“Is she still asleep?” Harry said.

Hermione nodded. “We need to talk, Harry.”

Harry had learned to dread that tone of voice and took the offensive. “We need to talk to you too. Gawain Robards and Kingsley want to meet with us before you go back to Hogwarts. He called it a ‘private debriefing.’”

Hermione looked uneasy. “But some of the things we did were illegal. We can’t tell the head of the Auror Department about those. Which leaves a lot of holes in the story.”

“I know. I’ve already decided we’re not going to comply unless they agree not to press charges. For all three of us.”

“Robards said our jobs depended on it,” Ron said.

“That’s just for show,” Hermione said, sipping her tea. “They want to know what happened, and they want the two of you to join the department. They’ll protest, but they’ll do what Harry wants. Ask for written offers of immunity. Signed by the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and probably Kingsley too, in case one or both of them are overturned in the restructuring.”

“When do you want to go?” Harry finished his last bite of bacon and started on his eggs. 

“I don’t know. I’ll talk to Mum and Dad and see.” She frowned at her plate for a moment, then shook herself before continuing. “But I need to talk to you about Ginny. Last night we talked mostly about Australia, but it made me realize I need to know how much you’ve told her before we go back to Hogwarts and share a dormitory for a year.”

“Oh. Well, she knows about the Horcruxes.” 

“All of them?” Ron said sharply.

“Well, not—not the last one.” _Not me_.

Ron and Hermione nodded in understanding. 

Harry tried to think how to summarize three months’ worth of conversations. “She knows about staying in Grimmauld Place, and RAB, and breaking into the Ministry. And—and the argument with Lupin, and the night Teddy was born. Er, we talked about the Chamber of Secrets, and everything about the night of the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament, and my detentions with Umbridge, and the prophecy—“

“What about the Hallows?” Hermione interrupted.

“A bit. I told her about them when I told her about our visit to Mr. Lovegood.”

“You haven’t talked about the Forest?” she pressed.

Harry shook his head and bent over to drop a piece of bacon under the table for Crookshanks.

“What about Snape’s memories?”

“She knows he was in love with my mum, but not the rest of it.”

Hermione fiddled with her spoon. “Malfoy Manor?”

“All I said was we got captured and taken there and how Dobby helped us escape. But I think she’s guessed,” Harry said quietly. “Or maybe Luna’s told her.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Is there anything you haven’t told her, you know, on purpose?” Ron said. “Anything you don’t want us to talk about?”

“I want to tell her about the Forest,” Harry said immediately. “I—not yet, but I want to be the one to do it. And Dumbledore’s plan, such as it was.”

“Of course, Harry,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, that one goes without saying, mate.” Ron hesitated, rolling his last sausage back and forth with his fork. “Does she know about … me staying with Bill and Fleur?”

Harry shook his head. “I haven’t said _anything_ about that.”

“So, she doesn’t know about Godric’s Hollow or the silver doe,” Hermione said.

Harry shook his head again. Hermione took a bite of toast, looking thoughtful. 

“I can tell her. I can’t imagine—I can’t really tell my and Ron’s story without talking about that night and the night he came back. Unless you want to tell her,” she said to Ron.

He groaned and ran one hand through his hair. “She’ll kill me when she finds out I walked out on Harry. You know she will.”

“I’ll wait until we’re at Hogwarts,” Hermione promised. “Give her time to cool off before she sees you again.”

Harry looked at Ron. “I think she should know. Ginny said—in one of our very first conversations about the war, she said it wasn’t fair for you guys to know stuff she didn’t if she and I were really going to make a go of it. We can’t keep it from her forever, and it’s better for one of us to tell her than for Bill or Fleur to let something slip.”

Ron sighed and stabbed the sausage. “All right.”

“I know I’ve done things I’m not proud of,” Harry said, thinking of the Unforgivable Curses. “Things I never thought I’d do.” 

“Well, I certainly never thought I’d break into Gringotts,” Hermione said. “Although I have to say, I’m rather proud of having ridden a dragon.” She grinned as Ron and Harry laughed. 

()()()()

Bill stacked several dishes and carried them into the kitchen, where his mother was slicing the cake Fleur had brought.

“Have you made any plans for Ginny’s birthday?”

“Ginny?” Mum said absently, taking down a stack of dessert plates.

“Ginny’s birthday,” he repeated, collecting clean forks.

“Oh, I hardly think we need to worry about that now.”

That’s what Bill had been afraid of. “It’s next week, Mum.”

She turned to look at him. “Wh-what?”

“Ginny’s birthday. It’s next week. Tuesday, to be exact. Today is August second.”

“August?”

“Yeah, Mum. It’s August,” Bill said gently. “Harry’s party was two days ago, remember?”

“I—well—“ She turned back to the cake. “Well, then we need to think about Percy too. His birthday is only eleven days after Ginny’s.”

“What do you think about having one party for both of them? Just a family dinner on the actual day, but a big party afterwards?”

Mum licked some icing off her finger and walked over to the wall calendar. She turned three pages. “Hmm, Percy’s birthday is on a Saturday this year, but we should avoid having the big party on his day, especially with it being Ginny’s seventeenth.”

Bill’s shoulders relaxed. This sounded much more like Mum. “What about the fifteenth?” he said. “Percy and Ginny can invite their friends, we’ll invite the Order….”

“Two weeks? I suppose I can throw something together in that amount of time.”

“Fleur and I will help,” Bill said quickly. “Ginny and Harry too.”

“All right, you talk to Percy and Ginny and form a guest list, and I’ll find some invitations. We’ll need to send them in the next couple of days.”

()()()()

Harry laughed as Ron’s gnome landed yards this side of the tree stump they were aiming for.

“Give me a break,” Ron grumbled, snatching another gnome as it made a bid for freedom between them. “I’m out of practice.”

“I’ll say,” Harry said. His gnome hit the stump with a satisfying hollow thud, and the ugly creature staggered off towards the far hedge.

“Why are we out here, anyway? I don’t remember Mum saying anything at breakfast.”

“Your mum hasn’t asked anyone to do much of anything.”

Ron stopped mid-twirl, and his gnome bit him in the finger. That one went past the stump. “What do you mean?”

“She’s … had a rough time. Ginny’s been doing most of the housework.”

“So, you’ve kept the garden up for her?”

Harry half-buried himself in a peony bush, but Ron was still watching him when he straightened up with a struggling gnome in each hand.

“Thanks, Harry.”

He shrugged. “How’s Hermione?” Ron had disappeared for most of the day the last three days, ever since the Grangers went back to work.

“Brilliant. Absolutely bloody brilliant.”

Harry grinned. “Yeah?”

“And that’s all I’m going to say,” Ron said firmly, making a respectable toss except the gnome flew off to the side.

Harry plunged his hand into the next clump of flowers. “I thought her parents weren’t letting you come over.”

“Not by magical transportation, and it’s hours by car. Not that I have one.”

Harry smirked. “Or know how to fly it.”

“That was six years ago. No way I’d crash into the Whomping Willow this time.”

“Where have you been meeting up?” Harry timed this question with Ron’s exploration of the tall grass along the fence. If Ron sensed the motivation behind the question….

“You remember that tent Bill gave us to replace the one we lost?”

Harry looked round, ignoring the gnome darting across his foot. “You’ve been hiding in plain sight?” He and Ginny couldn’t use the tent. If Harry asked to borrow it, Ron would definitely know what was up.

“Most of the time.” Ron grabbed the escaping gnome. “Although … we’ve been thinking about Grimmauld Place.”

Grimmauld Place! Why hadn’t he thought of that? No, he didn’t want to take Ginny there. Even if he asked Kreacher to clean the place first, it was still dark and depressing and old.

“We didn’t think you’d mind. You don’t, do you?”

“No, not at all. Somebody should get some use out of the place. I’d completely forgotten about it, to be honest.”

Ron dusted his hands on his trousers. “There’s something else I wanted to ask you about.”

Harry joined him. “What’s that?”

“Moving out.”

“Leaving the Burrow?” Harry sat down on the bench at the edge of the vegetable garden.

“I know you like it here, Harry, but I don’t fancy living with my parents forever. And your main attraction is going to be gone in a month, anyway.”

Harry slumped against the back of the bench. Ron was right; the Burrow wouldn’t be the same without Ginny.

“Move out where? I don’t want to live at Grimmauld Place.” Last year, they hadn’t had a choice; there had been no other place to hide. But now … too many memories. Of Sirius … Lupin … Fred….

“Once we start drawing salary, I can afford a flatshare. Mum won’t protest too much if she knows I’ll be living with you. Maybe somewhere in London? Not too far from the Ministry?”

Ron never asked him for much, and Harry could tell by his expression Ron really wanted this. He had talked about leaving the Burrow for years. Their own flat, their own space. Somewhere Ginny and Hermione could visit without worrying about parents. Unless….

“What about Ginny?”

“What about her?”

Harry just looked at him. Ron knew damn well _what_.

Ron scratched his chin. “I reckon. If that’s what she wants,” he added.

“All right, then I say yes. Let’s get a flat in London.”

“Great! I promised George I’d help in the shop today, but we can go looking tomorrow, eh?”

“First thing,” Harry said, smiling at Ron’s excitement.

()()()()

“You’re quiet tonight,” Ginny observed from her position on Harry’s shoulder. They had come out early, just after sunset.

“Just thinking.” 

“‘Bout what?” 

He didn’t answer for a few moments, stroking her hair from scalp to ends. He loved her hair; it was rare for them to be touching and him not to be playing with her hair. 

“You’re leaving in a month.”

Ginny’s heart leapt. He had noticed! She kept her voice calm. “I know.”

His free hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. “I’m going to miss you.”

She reached down and entwined her fingers with his, resting them on his stomach. “Me too.”

“I won’t get to see you except in Hogsmeade and on holidays.”

“I know.” _Come on, Harry, come on_ ….

“Me and Ron … we’re going to look at flats tomorrow.”

“Yeah?” She felt him nod. 

“And I was thinking … maybe if … if we had our own place—Ron and me, I mean—you could … visit. And it would be just the two of us, me and you, without your parents, or your brothers, or anything.”

Ginny smiled. His nervousness was adorable. She could hear his heartbeat quickening under her ear. “Without any chaperones, you mean.”

He nodded again. “If that’s okay with you.”

She lifted her head to look him in the face. “Of course that’s okay with me. Snogging outside is romantic in the summertime, but I don’t think either one of us would like it much when it’s cold, or snowing, or raining.”

Harry’s fingers caught in the hair at the back of her head, and he pulled her down. “I’ll always like snogging you,” he whispered against her mouth, but he didn’t linger. 

Ginny propped herself on one arm and looked down at him. “We could get rid of the chaperones here too,” she said. “Hermione told me about the security spells you used. We could—“

But he was shaking his head. “It’s too open, too exposed. And Ron knows how to get through those wards.”

“Ron’s going to be your flatmate.”

“That’s different. We have an understanding.”

She sat up. “He and Hermione are having sex at the Burrow. Why can’t we?”

“Who said anything about sex?”

Her mouth fell open, and she stammered for words as heat filled her face. “You—I thought—flat—no chaperones….”

Laughing, Harry sat up to kiss her again. “Do you want that?”

She paused, studying his face. The sky was still lit, but it was getting shadowy here on the ground. “Don’t you?”

He smirked at her. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know, Harry. Sometimes, like your birthday, everything’s fine, but sometimes you push me away. Like that time in your room a few weeks ago.”

“I don’t want to do that anymore,” he said quietly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Push you away.”

She put her hand on his chest, urging him back down and snuggling against him again. “You’ll come up on Hogsmeade weekends?”

“Of course I will.” His hand tangled in her hair again, the other rubbing up and down her arm.

“I wish I didn’t have to go back.”

“I wish I didn’t ever have to be separated from you.” With a gentle tug, he tipped her face up and kissed her.

Ginny kissed him back, imagining a double bed … and a closed door … and no chaperones….


	35. Chapter Thirty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word about timing: Ginny's birthday, August 11th, encompasses this whole chapter, followed by two chapters on the 12th and one (and a quarter) on the 13th. Just a heads up that lots of things are happening in a short period of time.

“There’s my birthday girl.”

“Hi, Daddy.” Ginny accepted his hug and kiss.

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to leave for work without seeing you, but I didn’t want to wake you so early on your birthday.”

“It’s all right. I heard Charlie come in and never really went back to sleep.” Ginny sat down at the table.

“Charlie’s here?”

“A little after five. He said he got held up in Germany. Security.”

“I told him—eh, never mind. I’d get you a cup, but maybe you’d like to do it yourself?” Dad smiled.

Ginny’s droopy eyelids widened. “I’m seventeen! I can do magic!”

He laughed. “That you can, sunshine.”

Ginny pointed her wand at the upper cupboard to the right of the sink. “ _Accio_ cup!” She watched the cupboard door open and the ceramic teacup sail towards her with a deep sense of satisfaction. 

“Very nice,” Dad said. “Percy forgot the all-important _cup_ and emptied the entire cupboard. Spent most of breakfast repairing every dish we owned.”

“Really?”

“Not that you heard it from me, of course.”

“Of course.” Ginny grinned.

“Happy birthday, Ginny.” Dad kissed the top of her head. “Tell your mum I’ll be home before dinner.”

“Okay. Have a good day, Daddy.”

Ginny contemplated the empty kitchen. Everyone else was still asleep. _Seventeen_. She didn’t feel different. Shouldn’t a milestone birthday feel different? She sipped her tea and flipped through the _Daily Prophet_ lying on the table. Harry had trials today. He hadn’t wanted to go, but Ginny said she didn’t mind. He would be home in time for her birthday dinner this evening. Bill and Fleur were coming too, and Percy, and George. They would eat in the garden, as Harry and Hermione raised the total to eleven and Ginny’s birthday was one of the few in the family that occurred in nice enough weather for a garden party. Hermione would be here in a few hours, once her parents left for work, and would be spending the night. With Harry at the trials and Ron working with George in the shop, the girls would have the day to themselves. Ginny glanced at the stairs, but there was no sign of her mother. Perhaps she would visit Fred’s grave this morning, just the two of them.

()()()()

“Oh, there’s the birthday girl!” Charlie called as Ginny and Hermione entered the garden where he, Bill, and Percy were setting up tables. “Where have you two been?”

“Hogwarts.”

“How’s it coming?”

“Pretty well,” Hermione answered. “The teachers’ quarters, hospital wing, Great Hall, Entrance Hall, and kitchens have all been repaired. Now we’re working on the dormitories and common rooms. The classrooms for the required lessons will be next.”

“Will everything be ready by September first?” Percy said.

“Not everything,” Hermione said, catching the end of the tablecloth Percy conjured and helping him smooth it over the table. “But we’ll have living quarters and food and a few classrooms at least. The library still needs a lot of work.”

“So does the Quidditch pitch,” Ginny said. “McGonagall says since Quidditch season doesn’t start until November, it has to wait.”

“She’ll get it fixed in time,” Charlie said. “McGonagall knows it’s not Hogwarts without Quidditch.”

Fleur and Mrs. Weasley came out of the house and set dishes in the center of the table. 

“Ginny, there you are. I was starting to think I would have to send one of your brothers after you for your own party.”

“It’s just now six o’clock, Mum. George and Ron still have to close up shop.”

“Yes, well, take a seat. Hermione, I could use your help inside, please.”

Ginny sat at the very center of the table and let the familiar chaos swirl around her. Fleur sent Bill to gather fresh flowers for a centerpiece and added a design to the tablecloth with a tap of her wand. Soon it was nearly hidden by bowls and platters of Ginny’s favorite foods as first Hermione, then George and Ron, made multiple trips from the kitchen. Charlie set up a smaller table to one side and busied himself stacking the presents into a brightly-colored pyramid, which had to be rearranged when Harry appeared with two more gifts. Percy conjured place tags for everyone and placed them according to Ginny’s instructions.

At last the nine Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione were seated, plates were passed, and dinner began.

“Seventeen years ago today,” Dad began.

“Our lives changed forever,” Bill intoned, then jumped. “Ouch!” He rubbed a welt on his arm and turned towards his sister, who had her wand on the table and was smiling smugly.

“Watch out, boys, she can do magic now,” Mum said.

“Well, they did!” Bill said defensively.

“For the better,” Percy said.

“Suck up,” Bill and Charlie muttered.

“Seventeen years ago today,” Dad said in a louder voice that quelled the boys at once, “we welcomed a baby girl into our family of boys, and she grew into the bright, beautiful, and brave young woman we’re honoring tonight. Happy seventeenth birthday, and many happy returns of the day, Ginevra.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

Mum and Dad looked at each other and grasped hands before Dad spoke again.

“It has been a difficult year for our family, and we have all suffered greatly.” His gaze moved around the table, resting on each person. “But that’s what family is, what family does—we rejoice with one another, and we mourn with one another. Our triumphs are greater for the sharing, and our losses softened. Despite—“ 

Dad’s voice cracked, and Ginny reached for Harry’s hand under the table. 

“Despite Fred’s absence, today is a day for rejoicing, and we will celebrate the way we always do—with memories of the birthday girl.” He smiled. “I’ll start. My favorite memory of Ginny over the last year is from Christmas. The Burrow was so quiet and empty last autumn, and then you came home and filled it with color and laughter.”

“Don’t forget the paper chains, Dad,” George said, and her parents laughed. Ginny had draped colored-paper chains over every horizontal surface, from the mantel to the bannister to the shower curtain rod.

“Molly?”

Mum smiled. “That first night at Auntie Muriel’s. When you brought me the family clock.”

Ginny remembered seeing the clock just before Mum had grabbed her to Disapparate away from the Burrow.

“I was so touched that in the midst of everything, you remembered something that was important to me.”

“I knew you would miss it. And—“ Ginny hesitated, not wanting to upset her mother further, but she herself didn’t like it when people hesitated to speak of Fred, so she plunged on. “And it was from Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian.”

Mum’s smile trembled. “Yes, it was.”

“The night before Ron and Hermione left,” Bill said suddenly. “On the roof. You made us talk about Fred, remember?”

Ginny nodded, feeling the emotion of that night as a knot in her throat.

“And you … smoothed things over. If there’s one thing we’ve always agreed on, it’s that we all adore you.”

“Speak for yourself,” George and Ron said together, and the knot dissolved as Ginny laughed.

Bill turned to his wife expectantly.

“That night we sat up talking, when Bill and Charlie were outside, do you remember? Just getting to know one another. As … sisters,” Fleur said, uncharacteristically shy. “That is my favorite memory of you this year.”

Ginny smiled warmly at her sister-in-law. This year had changed Fleur, softened her. And Ginny would always be grateful to her for sheltering Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Luna.

Ginny looked to Charlie and raised one eyebrow. 

“Bill took mine.”

Bill smirked. “You should have been born first.”

“Like you had anything to say about it,” Charlie retorted. “Okay, Gin-Gin, Gin-Gin….”

Ginny rolled her eyes at the pet name but waited quietly.

When he spoke, Charlie’s voice was serious. “I had the chance to talk to Neville Longbottom and some of the other members of Dumbledore’s Army after the Battle.”

Ginny broke eye contact with him, staring down at her half-empty plate.

“If I had known what you were doing, I think I might have come to Hogwarts and killed you myself.”

No one laughed. The croaking frogs in the pond sounded loud in the still evening air.

“But I have to say, Ginny Molly Weasley—“

She looked up at him again.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of anyone than I was of you right then.”

Ginny beamed at her brother and sat up a little straighter. “Thank you, Charlie. Your turn,” she said to Percy.

“Catching you and Harry under the willow tree, definitely.”

“Percy! You weren’t supposed to tell!” Ginny felt her face flushing as whistles and cat-calls sounded from all around the table, and she avoided her parents’ gazes.

“Oh, like you’re the best at keeping secrets,” Percy shot back.

Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione laughed, remembering Ginny had been the one to tell her brothers about Percy’s first girlfriend years ago, after she walked in on them at Hogwarts.

“And arriving in the Room of Requirement.”

The family quieted, remembering that awkward moment when they had seen Percy for the first time in nearly three years.

“You were beautiful,” he said reverently. “And tall—“ 

The others laughed, as at 5’2”, Ginny was anything but. But she had grown a few inches since Percy had last seen her. 

“And even sassier than I remembered.” He grinned. “And—“ He swallowed. “And you hugged me.”

“Of course I did,” Ginny said staunchly. “You’re my favorite girl brother.”

Now even Percy laughed, and Ginny was pleased to see George did too.

“I have two,” he announced. “You, at Christmas, full of plans for the DA and demanding we supply you with news and products. And the day after … after….”

George didn’t finish his thought, but she knew what he meant. After Fred’s funeral. When George ignored or yelled at everyone else who had approached him, but Ginny simply refused to take no for an answer.

“Ron?” Dad said.

Ron, who was sitting beside her, turned to look her straight in the eye. “When you arrived in the Room of Requirement,” he said. “Seeing for myself that you were all right.” He smirked. “And that long, lovesick look between you and Harry.”

She glanced at Harry, and he smiled at her.

“Like that, right there,” Ron said. “Only it went on for about five minutes.”

“It did not,” Ginny said.

“Well, mine is kind of similar, but in reverse,” Hermione said, turning slightly pink. “When you found out about me and Ron, but you wouldn’t believe us until we kissed.”

Ginny grinned, remembering that moment and the happiness on both their faces very clearly.

“It was just so—normal,” Hermione continued. “So like you, and so normal, like we hadn’t been gone from Hogwarts at all.”

“All right, Harry,” Bill said, his tone laced with warning. “Your turn.”

Ron stuck his fingers in his ears and began singing “la-la-la-la” so loudly that Ginny couldn’t hear Hermione’s scolding, just see her hands tugging on Ron’s arm.

Ginny looked at Harry, already feeling her face heat. He smiled at her, a slow, secret smile, and she shook her head. “Not that one.”

Harry pretended to think, then counted on his fingers, and Ginny knew he was thinking of their Scars and Freckles game.

“Not that, either,” she said quickly.

“Quick, Harry, the first thing that comes to mind when I say ‘Ginny,’” George prompted.

Ginny saw it on his face, the word neither one of them had spoken all summer. _Love_. They stared at each other, the rest of the table forgotten.

“Yes,” Harry said, finally answering George without taking his eyes off hers. “And the day Andromeda brought Teddy over for the first time, when you worked so hard to make sure everything went well.”

Ginny smiled, laid her hand on his cheek, and kissed him. “Let’s have cake.”

()()()()

The song was sung, candles were blown out, cake was served, and Ginny’s brothers clamored for her to open her gifts.

“Mine first,” Charlie said, handing her a large, somewhat heavy box.

“Why you? I’m the oldest.”

“So? I’m the closest to Ginny,” Ron said.

“It’s Ginny’s birthday,” Percy said, ever the diplomat. “She should choose.”

“Well, since I’m holding this one….” She lifted the lid and stared, speechless. It was a pair of black knee-high leather boots, and not just any leather: dragon hide. “Charlie,” Ginny breathed, lifting out one gorgeous specimen.

“Is that from a—“ Harry began.

“Hungarian Horntail,” Charlie said, grinning. “I thought it appropriate.”

Ginny and Harry exchanged a smile.

“No wonder you got held up in Germany,” Percy said. “Exporting dragon products requires special documentation.”

“I know, Perce, and I had it. The bloke from the German Floo Network didn’t think it was authentic.”

“I told you not to come through Germany,” Dad said mildly.

“It was supposed to be the shortest transfer, but with all the trouble they gave me, it would have been faster to come through Greece, Italy, and France.”

“No one in France or Italy would have questioned such style,” Fleur said. “They are _magnifique_ , Ginny.”

“Thanks. Thank you, Charlie.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Okay, now ours,” Bill said, pulling an envelope from the stack.

Ginny took it with a questioning look, but Bill merely leaned back and put his arm around Fleur’s shoulders. Ginny opened the envelope to reveal a generous credit for Gladrags Wizard Wear.

“I did not know your size, or what you would like, and Bill refused to let me go through your wardrobe,” Fleur said with a frown at her husband. “He said there is one in Hogsmeade too, if you would prefer to avoid Diagon Alley. I hope—“

“It’s wonderful, Fleur.” Ginny smiled at her again, touched by her nervousness. “Thank you.”

“ _Mais oui_ ,” Fleur said, smiling back.

“Well, if we’re going in order, I’m next.” Percy passed her a small jewelry box.

“Oh, Percy….”

“Do you like them?”

“Them” was a pair of gold earrings in the shape of a crescent moon with a green star nestled at the base of the curve. Peridot, her birthstone. 

“I remembered you liked Astronomy, so I thought….”

Ginny finally looked up from the box, moved closer to Ron, and stretched across the table to kiss Percy’s cheek. “They’re lovely, Percy. Thank you.”

The tips of his ears went pink.

“Here you go, Gin-Gin.”

Ginny gave George the obligatory scowl and tugged the heavy box towards her. It contained what looked to be a year’s supply of food for Arnold, several Self-Inking and Spell-Checking Quills, a large supply of Skiving Snackboxes, and a box of Weasleys’ Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs.

“We’re setting those off as soon as it’s full dark,” George informed her.

“This is great, George, thanks.” Now she wouldn’t have to take any of her pocket money to buy food for Arnold. Pygmy puffs didn’t eat a lot, but she didn’t get a lot of pocket money, either. 

“Your turn,” Ginny said to Ron.

“Open Hermione’s first.”

Of the three boxes left, there was no doubt which one came from Hermione. Ginny picked up the professionally wrapped gift with a cloth bow. Inside was a large set of elegant, apple-green stationery with her initials embossed in silver.

“Oh, Hermione, it’s too pretty to write on!”

“I think you’ll find a reason,” Hermione said dryly, and everyone laughed.

Ginny gave her a hug. “Thank you.” 

“You’re very welcome.”

Ginny hesitated, looking from the gifts remaining to her mother.

“You know what’s in that one.” Mum smiled.

She did, having been told from her early childhood that the jade ring would one day be hers. Ginny opened the velvet box carefully. It was a band of solid jade, polished to a shine and overlaid with gold filigree at the top. In the center of the filigree design was a perfect pearl, surrounded by garnets like the petals of a flower. She tilted it to read the words engraved inside, unfaded through the generations. _Circle of love: kindness generosity courage_. Ginny slipped it on her finger and looked at her parents in surprise.

“It fits perfectly!”

“It’s yours now, until you have a daughter,” Mum said.

Ginny held out her hand, admiring the ring one last time before looking expectantly at Ron. 

“This is from me and Harry.” Ron reversed a Transfiguration charm on the last gift, and it transformed into something long, and skinny, and wider at one end….

“No….”

“Open it,” Harry urged.

Ginny shook her head. “No, I can’t.” If Ron and Harry had bought her—one of those, they had bought her the best—of those. “It’s too much.”

“Which is why it’s from both of us,” Ron said. “Go on, open it.”

Ginny was not fooled. Ron and Harry were the only two people who knew she wanted to try out for the Holyhead Harpies. Even split between the boys, a professional-quality broomstick was more expensive than any of her other gifts. 

“Well, if you don’t want it—“

Ginny snatched the paper-wrapped broomstick before Harry could put his hands on it, and he and Ron smirked. “I didn’t say that,” she said.

“Go on, then,” Charlie said. 

Ginny bit her lip in a last moment of hesitation, then tore the paper off in one long rip and screamed. 

“I wanted to get you a Firebolt,” Harry said quickly, “but Ron said—“

Ginny clutched the broom _Which Broomstick_ had rated top pick for Chasers, the Nimbus 4000.

“You need agility and control more than speed,” Ron finished.

“Can I try it out now?” Ginny said breathlessly. She looked at George. “Before the fireworks?”

“Can we stop you?” 

“No!” And she was off, flying over the hedge before anyone even pushed back from the table.

()()()()

Ginny and Harry lay on a blanket in the center of the orchard. George’s fireworks had been spectacular, and there were still Catherine wheels, chimeras, and horses (in honor of her Patronus) sparkling across the sky.

“I think my favorite part is the replacement of the obscenities with your nicknames,” Harry said, as the glitter of a faded firework reformed into the word _sprite_. 

“Bloody brothers,” Ginny said, but the complaint lacked any venom. Despite everything, George had taken the trouble to personalize the fireworks for her and she felt loved.

“I’m glad you didn’t give Ron a hard time about the broomstick,” Harry said. “It was really important to him to do something special for you.”

“Where did he get the money?” Ginny said curiously. “Did Kingsley give you a salary advance?”

Harry hesitated. “Ron should tell you.”

Ginny watched an orange mare toss her mane and fade into dust. “He used some of the money from Fred, didn’t he?”

Harry nodded.

She gave a half-laugh, half-sob. “Did he keep any of it for himself?”

“I think he bought a surfboard in Australia. He wanted you to have something from all your brothers for your seventeenth.”

Ginny blinked hard. “I went to visit him this morning. Fred. His grave, I mean.”

“Yeah?” 

She nodded. 

Harry squeezed her hand but said nothing. Ginny squeezed back hard, trying not to think. Not to remember her last birthday, barely a week after Harry, Ron, and Hermione had disappeared, when Fred and George had come bursting into her room with sweets and an array of party hats, insisting that not even a girl was allowed to mope on her birthday. Or Easter, when Fred had charmed the towels in her bathroom to hop like rabbits, and Ginny had spent fifteen minutes running all over the upstairs of Auntie Muriel’s house, trying to catch a set to take a shower. Ginny had been frustrated and furious, Fred had laughed himself to tears, and no one could hear Mum’s lecture because Auntie Muriel was yelling at the same time. 

Ginny turned into Harry’s shoulder and cried.


	36. Chapter Thirty-Five

Harry came down to breakfast the next morning to find Hermione lingering over tea with Ron and Ginny. 

“I thought you were going home first thing this morning,” Harry said, drawing up a chair beside Ron.

She grimaced. “I overslept. Mum and Dad were already at work by the time I woke up, so I decided it wouldn’t hurt to spend a little more time here. I definitely have to be back before they get home, though.”

“There you are, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said, coming in from the scullery and picking up two envelopes from the worktop. “The girls wanted to wait for you.” She passed Ginny and Hermione each a yellow envelope with a purple wax seal.

Hermione pulled out her booklist, and something red and gold fell out. She stared at it for a long minute, then flung the parchment onto the table and ran out the back door.

“Hermione, what—“ Mrs. Weasley began, but her only answer was the slamming of the door.

“It’s a prefect badge,” Harry said, recognizing the patch as Ginny picked it up. “Why would that upset her?”

Ron reached for Hermione’s letter. “McGonagall says she thought Hermione might have lost hers, what with everything that happened last year, so she sent her a new badge. A prefect badge,” he said slowly. He turned to look at Harry. “Not a Head Girl one.” 

Harry swore softly. “If she hadn’t come with me—“

“It must have gone to one of the sixth-years,” Ron said. “Someone in your year, I mean,” he added to Ginny.

“Siân Jernigan, probably,” Ginny said, looking at the back door with a frown on her face.

“It’s not fair,” Harry said angrily. “She was wanted by the Ministry, she sent her parents away, she helped me defeat Voldemort, and McGonagall won’t make her Head Girl just because she’s too old?”

“Think about the other pupils, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said, setting a bowl of porridge in front of him. “Would it be fair for the girls in Ginny’s year not to have a chance at being Head Girl just because Hermione took a year off?”

“She didn’t go on holiday, she was helping me destroy Voldemort!”

“We know, Harry,” Ginny said soothingly. 

“It’s not your fault, mate,” Ron said. “She couldn’t have gone to Hogwarts last year even if she hadn’t come with us. That bloody Muggle-born Registration Commission, remember?”

“It’s not fair,” Harry said again, jamming his spoon in his porridge. 

“It doesn’t seem right no matter how you look at it,” Ginny agreed.

“If anybody deserves to be Head Girl, Hermione does,” Harry said stubbornly. “She’s the smartest witch Hogwarts has seen in decades. Everyone says so. And she’d sooner cut off her hand than break a rule.”

“Yes, except defying Ministry decrees, impersonating a government employee, starting an illegal secret Defense Against the Dark Arts group, and….” Mrs. Weasley paused dramatically. “Oh, yes, armed robbery.”

Ron and Ginny laughed. Harry gave her a reluctant smile. 

“That’ll be it for sure,” Ron said, swiping toast from Ginny’s plate rather than the platter beside him. “McGonagall’s afraid to make her Head Girl in case the Ministry decides to come after us for Gringotts, after all.”

“Still,” Ginny said, looking at the door again. “Someone should go after her.”

“I’ll do it,” Ron said, shoving the entire piece of toast in his mouth before pushing away from the table.

Ginny looked to Harry in surprise. 

“They spent more than two months together, just the two of them. It couldn’t have been easy, helping her find her parents.”

“No,” Ginny said quietly, coming around the table to sit by him as her mother left the kitchen. “I’m sure it was difficult for both of them.”

Harry finally started eating his porridge and took a few slices of toast from the plate Ginny passed him.

“It’s not your fault,” she repeated. “Ron’s right. Hermione couldn’t have been Head Girl last year even if she had stayed behind.”

“I know,” Harry mumbled. “But she’s done so much for me already. And she deserves it, she really does. She’s talked about being Head Girl since our first year.”

“I feel bad for her,” Ginny said. “Remember how excited she was about being prefect because it was something her parents could understand?”

He nodded. “I wish I knew what to do for her.”

“What do you mean?”

He focused on his breakfast. “I’ve been thinking about getting her something really nice for her birthday. You know, to thank her. Something … just … I don’t know. I’d like to be able to show her how much I appreciate her. Something more than a thank you.”

“More than going into the Forest alone?”

Harry looked up sharply. He and Ginny still hadn’t talked about the Forest. But there was no accusation on her face, just a blank, even expression.

“Something more personal,” he said.

Ginny’s expression flickered. “Well, why don’t you write her a letter?”

“A letter?”

“Hermione loves reading, loves words. A letter would be something she could have for always, could pull out and reread whenever she wants. And it would give you a chance to think about what you want to say without worrying about how it sounds. You could rewrite it until it was just like you wanted. Normally I would say writing a letter to tell someone how you feel instead of saying it to her face is a bit cowardly, but you’ve already tried to tell her, haven’t you?”

Harry nodded, turning the idea over in his mind.

“Just think about it,” Ginny said, squeezing his hand.

“You haven’t opened your letter,” Harry said, pointing to the envelope still lying by her plate, unsealed but unopened.

“I—I kind of wanted to wait for Ron and Hermione. In case….”

Harry knew what she was hoping for. He picked up the envelope and held it up to the sunlight streaming through the window, trying to see through the heavy yellow parchment. “Hmm, I can’t tell.” He hefted it in his hand. “Feels a bit thicker than usual though, don’t you think?”

Ginny smiled. “Maybe a bit,” she admitted, eyes sparkling.

“Wonder what the extra weight is? Do you think you have an extra long booklist? Maybe it’s a copy of the Hogwarts uniform policy,” he teased. “I heard you had a lot of violations last year.”

She laughed. “Give me that!”

Harry shifted the letter to the hand away from her and extended his arm. “You wanted to wait for Ron and Hermione,” he said.

“But they could be ages.” Ginny leaned around him and made a swipe for the letter.

“Shame you’re too little to do magic,” he drawled, standing up and holding it out of her reach, despite her jumps. “You could just summon it.”

“I am not too little to do magic!” she said indignantly, stopping her attempts to retrieve the letter long enough to put her hands on her hips and glare up at him.

“You’re too little to reach it,” he taunted, waving it over her head for emphasis.

“Is that so?” She stepped forward, so close their chests brushed, and twined her arms around his neck. Her voice had dropped to a purr, her beautiful face tipped up to his.

“Er,” Harry said.

Ginny slid one hand into his hair, massaging gently. “Harry?”

“Mmm?” Without conscious thought, his free arm wrapped itself around her. 

“May I have my letter back?”

He focused on the movement of her mouth, the shape of her lips as she spoke, and had just leaned forward to kiss her when she shouted, “Got it!”

She broke their embrace, clutching the envelope triumphantly.

Harry blinked. “That’s cheating!”

“Cheating, my arse,” Ginny retorted. “It’s my letter!” She looked out the window. “Come on, let’s go tell them.”

Harry followed her out the back door and around the house to where Ron and Hermione stood at the side of the garage. Hermione looked a little red around the eyes but was composed.

“What’s up?” Ron said, seeing the look on his sister’s face.

Ginny pulled out her booklist and once again, something red and gold fluttered out of the envelope.

“Is that—“ Hermione said.

“A captain’s badge!” Ron and Harry shouted, recognizing the “C” emblazoned across the Gryffindor crest at once.

Ginny squealed, squeezing the badge in one hand and throwing her arms around Harry.

“See, I told you you would be selected. Congratulations!”

“That’s wonderful, Ginny,” Hermione said warmly, her arms outstretched as Harry let go of Ginny. 

“Not bad, sis,” Ron said, his lukewarm words betrayed by the enthusiastic hug that lifted her off the ground. 

Ginny laughed, holding the badge out in front of her. “I can’t believe it! Me, Quidditch Captain!”

“Oi, Charlie,” Ron bellowed over his shoulder. “Stop mucking about in there and come give the sprite some advice!”

“What is it?” Charlie appeared from the garage with a bicycle chain in hand.

Ginny held up her badge, grinning broadly.

Charlie dropped the chain. “No way!” he exclaimed, half-tackling Ginny before lifting her off the ground and twirling her around. Her long hair fanned out behind her like brilliant flames in the morning sun.

“Watch it,” Harry said good-naturedly. “She can’t fly if you break her in half.”

“Let me see that,” Charlie said.

Ginny held up the badge again but did not let go of it. 

“Just like mine,” he declared. “Well done, Gin-Gin.”

Ginny was so pleased she didn’t even protest the nickname. There was a _pop_ and the smell of acrid smoke, and they all turned. Hermione held up a camera. 

“I still had it in my pocket,” she said, smiling. “I took a couple more too, you just didn’t notice.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” Ginny said.

“I need to go,” Harry said, suddenly mindful of the time. “Birthday surprise,” he added.

“I thought we weren’t leaving until this afternoon,” Ginny said.

“We’re not. I need to—I need to set up some stuff.” 

“Okay,” Ginny said. “Will you be back for lunch?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Don’t wait on me if you’re hungry, okay?”

“Goodbye, Harry,” Hermione said, coming up and hugging him. “Good luck,” she whispered.

()()()()

Ginny stood outside the cinema, inspecting every poster carefully. “What’s Cinderella?” 

“It’s a Muggle fairy tale about a girl who is abused by her stepmother and stepsisters, but then she goes to a ball and meets the prince.”

“Oh, let’s see that one!” 

“We can’t see Cinderella, Ginny. It’s from a storybook.”

She pointed to the poster with her free hand. Harry had taken her hand when she stepped out of the Floo at The Leaky Cauldron and simply hadn’t let go. She watched him read the title: _Ever After: A Cinderella Story_.

“It will be different from the fairy tale,” he warned. “Films aren’t the same as books, even when they’re telling the same story.”

“Hermione will have the book, won’t she?”

“I’m sure she does.”

“Then I can read it later. This is the one I want.”

“Okay, let’s find out when it’s playing.”

Harry led her inside to the ticket booth and checked his watch. “Thirty minutes,” he said. “You okay with waiting?”

“Yes, please.”

They joined the short queue, and Ginny read the prices as they waited. “It costs a different amount depending on what time you come?”

“Yes, the earlier shows are called a matinee.”

“So, we’re seeing a matinee?”

“Yes.”

“Is it any different from the more expensive movies?”

“No, not at all.”

“Why doesn’t everyone come early then?“ 

“Because people have school and work and not everyone wants to wait for the weekend.”

It was their turn. Ginny watched closely as Harry paid with colorful, rectangular pieces of paper and received coins and tickets in return.

“Is that what you did this morning?” she said as they walked away. “Exchanged Muggle money?”

“Shh,” he reminded her. “But yes, one of the things. Do you need to use the ladies?”

“Oh! Can you not leave during the film?”

“You can, but you’re not going to want to.”

She shook her head. “I’m okay for now.”

“Do you want popcorn?” He indicated a long counter to their right that contained a popcorn machine and several types of sweets.

“I don’t want to spoil my dinner. Where are we going again?” Harry had kept his plans secret, saying only that he was taking her into Muggle London for “a proper date.”

He ignored the question as he had ignored all the others. “The film will last a couple of hours. You can’t come to the cinema and not have popcorn. Have you ever had pop?”

Ginny shook her head, reading the price list again. “Harry, popcorn and a drink will cost as much as a ticket! I don’t need anything.”

He squeezed her hand. “It’s fine, Ginny. I have enough.”

She felt her face getting hot. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “It’s just….“

“I understand. I never had any pocket money until—well, until my eleventh birthday, and even after that I still didn’t have any when I was at the Dursleys.”

Harry ordered a buttered popcorn for them to share and two different drinks. Stepping to the side, he handed her the popcorn and a fistful of serviettes, placed a straw in each drink, and offered her one. It was sweet and almost sharp, with little bubbles that burst on her tongue.

“You like it?”

She nodded.

“Try this one.”

The second drink was dark, even sweeter, and a bit syrupy. She licked her lips, considering. They were both good, just different. “Which one do you like best?”

“I like them both,” Harry said, smiling. “It’s your birthday. You get first pick.”

“The first one.”

“All right, take it. I have to get our tickets out.”

They walked to the other end of the lobby, and Harry handed their tickets to the boy with a silver nose ring slouching against a podium. He tore them in two, handed one section back to Harry, and said, “Number four, on your left.”

They turned left and walked down a hallway, passing several doors with film titles Ginny recognized from the posters, before entering number four. She stopped immediately—it was dark.

“Just follow the lights on the floor,” Harry said.

She looked down and saw a strip of light on the floor that extended to either side, then turned. She walked forward slowly, turned at the corner, and realized they had entered the room behind the seats, which were aligned in rows and stretched upwards above her head. Although the room was dim, she could see better now thanks to lights along the walls and stairs.

“Where should we sit?”

“Wherever you want.”

After trying a few, she chose seats square in the center of the auditorium and took a bite of popcorn as soon as she sat down. “How much longer?” 

Harry squinted at his watch. “Just a few minutes. They’ll show previews of upcoming films, and then ours will start.”

Ginny grabbed another fistful of popcorn. “I’m ready.”

()()()()

“What did you think?” Harry said as they followed the crowd into the lobby. 

“It was wonderful! Can we do it again?”

“If you like. We have almost three weeks before you go back to school.”

“Be back in a minute,” she said, and ducked into the toilet.

Ginny finished washing her hands and approached the hand dryer. She was glad it was crowded, for she never would have guessed the white box with a metal spout was a substitute for towels. She pushed the silver button as she had seen the other women do and held her hands under the blast of hot air before turning back to the mirror and scrutinizing her appearance. Her dress was cut simply, with a rounded neck, cap sleeves, and a gathered skirt Mum had hemmed to hit her at mid-calf. Ginny tucked her bra straps a little farther out of sight, then pulled lipstick and a brush from her handbag. Giving her loose hair one final stroke, she closed her bag and left.

Harry stood in front of the video games, fiddling with his shirt cuffs. He smiled when he saw her and reached for her hand. His was slightly sweaty, but Ginny didn’t let go.

“Is everything okay?”

“What? Yeah, fine. Everything’s fine.” He pushed his glasses farther up his nose with his other hand.

“Where are we going now?”

“I, uh, I thought we’d have dinner. It’s not far, but it’s not exactly close, either. Do you want to take the Underground?”

“Let’s walk. We can take it home.”

He looked even more nervous. “Okay. This way.”

They left the cinema and crossed the street. Being together in public was something they had never had the chance to do. Ginny liked it. Liked being seen with Harry, his hand leaving hers only to rest on her back or around her waist, gently steering her though the crowd and silently announcing to everyone that they were together. It was hard to believe, given everything else that had happened between them this summer, that they had never been on a date. They hadn’t even had a chance to go to Hogsmeade. 

Ginny stopped at anything that caught her eye: music shops with shiny discs in the windows, toy stores with floppy little stuffed animals and boxes with miniature screens, tourist shops, and banks with people getting money right out of the wall! She could tell Harry was anxious to move on, but she had never had the chance to wander through Muggle London, and she wanted to remember everything.

“Here we are.” Harry stopped in front of an ornate set of double doors set back from the street.

Ginny looked up at the gold letters over the arched entrance. “Harry, this is a hotel.”

“There’s a restaurant inside.” 

A posh restaurant, from the looks of things. Suppressing her trepidation—this was her birthday celebration, after all—Ginny stepped forward.

The lobby was gorgeous, all tiled floor, Ionic columns, and potted palms. Her heels echoed, announcing their presence as they crossed to a highly-polished desk.

“Ah, Mr. Potter. Welcome. Happy birthday, miss.” A dark-haired man with a neatly trimmed beard smiled kindly at her.

Ginny smiled back. This must have been another one of Harry’s stops this morning. “Thank you.”

“If you would like to have a seat, we’ll let you know when everything is ready.”

Ginny looked curiously at Harry, but he simply thanked the man and led her to a large chaise near the window.

“Harry, are you sure about this? We can go somewhere else. I don’t need anything fancy—“

“Let’s just—er, go upstairs first, and then you can decide, okay? I wanted to do something special.”

Ginny leaned against his shoulder. “Special doesn’t have to mean expensive.”

Harry lifted her chin. “You’re worth every penny. Every knut,” he added, then kissed her lightly.

She beamed at him and snuggled closer. “What did he mean, ‘when everything is ready’?”

“You’re really not good at surprises, are you?” he said, amused.

“I want to know what we’re doing, and you won’t even give me a hint.” She let her lower lip slide out in a pout.

“Oh, I’ve given you a very big hint,” Harry said dryly.

Ginny was still trying to work out what he meant when a uniformed bellhop appeared and handed Harry a small white card. “Here you go, sir. Enjoy your stay.”


	37. Chapter Thirty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know American hotels won’t let you have any source of open flame, and I assume London hoteliers are just as interested in not burning down as we are; I just ignored facts in favor of fantasy. I also admittedly based the room on my experience with American suites rather than European doubles (so sue me). I did, however, take advantage of the lower drinking age in the UK for Harry to be able to order wine.

Harry started to sweat. Ginny wouldn’t stop locking and unlocking the damn door.

The little red light turned green and she squealed. “Look, just like the lights for cars!” Her face fell. “Wait, why is it red again?”

“You have to actually open the door, Ginny.” 

“Oh.” She removed the card, carefully reinserted it into the slot again, waited for the light to glow green, opened the door an inch, and slammed it shut. 

Harry gritted his teeth.

“This is so cool!”

The next time, Harry threw his weight against the door as soon as she turned the handle.

“Oh, look! This is beautiful.”

It was a bathroom. Harry walked past it into the sitting area. Yes, there was the large covered platter, and the table was set for two. He felt the tiniest trickle of relief; the first part of his plan was in place. He heard a roar and Ginny shrieked. She stood in front of the vanity holding the built-in hair dryer, her hair mussed as if she had turned it on directly into her face. Harry took it from her, punched the off button, and replaced it.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, smoothing her hair. “Look, Harry! There’s a door between the sink and the actual bath. Isn’t that ingenious? I could take a shower and you could brush your teeth at the same time!”

Yes, because brushing his teeth was the first thing Harry thought of when she mentioned being wet and naked.

“That’s great, Gin. Don’t you want to see the rest of the suite?”

He held his breath, waiting for her to notice the table, but she spotted the television first and walked straight to it. Seeing that the telly could ruin his plans for the evening, Harry stuffed the remote out of sight between the sofa cushions. Ginny abandoned her search for the power button in favor of inspecting the view out the window, but the collection of buildings and streets did not hold her interest for long and she turned around, looking for a new gadget.

“Where does this go?” 

“No, wait!” Harry lunged for the bedroom door, but Ginny beat him to it.

He was right beside her when she opened it and saw her face light up with wonder. Puzzled, as it was a simple room with a bed, two bedside cabinets, and a dresser, he turned and followed her gaze. The room had been transformed. Candles burned on every flat surface, and two glass bowls filled with red roses sat on either side of the turned-down bed. The candles must have been scented; he smelled vanilla as well as the flowers.

“Oh,” Ginny said, and Harry knew she knew. 

He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. “I—“

“You did all this?” 

Harry tried swallowing again. His heart thundered in his ears, so loud he was certain Ginny could hear it and possibly see it trying to jump out of his chest. “I—“ He cleared his throat. “I told the staff it was my girlfriend’s birthday, but I didn’t know they were going to do this. I just wanted cake and ice cream.”

He focused on her shoulder, too afraid to look her in the eye, too nervous to look at the romantic room. Ginny still stood in the doorway, and Harry didn’t know if he should close the door and pretend the last thirty seconds never happened, or shove her into the room and slam the door behind them.

“Oh, Harry,” Ginny whispered. 

Then she was in his arms. The force of her attack pushed them into the room, and his hip hit the corner of the dresser. But the pain didn’t even register compared to the feel of her mouth, of her tongue twining with his, and Harry forgot that dinner was waiting, forgot that he was nervous, even forgot that he’d never done this before. Because he had done _this_ , kissing Ginny, before; had spent the entire summer kissing Ginny, and there was a sweet spot on her neck, just under her jawline, that—

She moaned, and Harry moved his hand, cradling her head as she tipped it in invitation. He trailed his lips down her neck, pausing at her pulse point, and then it was too long, he wanted to taste her again, and this kiss was frantic and needy. Ginny wrapped one leg around him and Harry gasped. She was in heels, and the extra height lined their bodies up perfectly. Harry thought she must have felt it too, for her breath caught. Then she made a small movement, rubbing herself against him, and Harry forgot to breathe at all. He cupped her bum in both hands to hold her there and she did it again, humming into his mouth, one hand behind his neck, the entire length of her body pressed against his, and his hands scrambled with her skirt, bunching it around her waist to get underneath it. Ginny hopped on one foot, trying to maintain her balance.

“I could use some help here,” she said breathlessly.

Harry thought she was doing brilliantly, but she moved one of his hands to the thigh wrapped round his hips. She shifted as he took some of her weight, rubbing against him again. He let his head drop against hers, barely registering that she was pulling his shirt out of his trousers. He was never going to last, never, not when she felt this good and they weren’t even naked yet.

She reached her hands inside his shirt, and her touch felt as good as it always did, better even, for the anticipation that accompanied it. He released her, trying to unbutton his shirt, but Ginny wobbled, and he grabbed her bum again by reflex. She made to stand on her own, and reluctantly, Harry let her.

“You do it,” he said, indicating his shirt.

She bit her lip, looked up at him and back down at her hands, and started with the lowest button. If someone had told him yesterday that Ginny unbuttoning his shirt would be one of the highlights of his summer, Harry would have said they were crazy. They had kissed shirtless before, each of them. She had taken his shirt off before too, but he was always in a t-shirt at the Burrow, not a button-down, and there was something different about raising his hands over his head and shrugging off a shirt and standing still and watching Ginny do it one piece of plastic at a time. Something more … deliberate. He could feel the huff of her breath against his skin, the gentle scrape of her nails, and by the time she reached the level of his chest pocket, her hands were shaking so hard she couldn’t get the last button through its hole. Frustrated, she slid one edge through and pulled, and his shirt fell open with a _ping_ as the button flew off and hit the wall.

“Oh, Merlin, I’m sorry!” 

She half turned as if she were actually considering retrieving the button, so Harry bent to kiss her again. She was amazing, warm and responsive and faintly buttery, and after her hands pushed the shirt off his shoulders, Harry began bunching her skirt up again. Ginny broke the kiss and turned around. She pulled her hair over one shoulder, leaving Harry staring at the zip between her shoulder blades. 

They were going to do this. They were really going to do it.

He took one deep breath, let it out slowly, and pulled the zip down to where it ended at the small of her back. When she didn’t move, he pushed the sleeves off her shoulders, and the dress fell to the floor. Ginny stepped out of it, kicking off her shoes as she did so and shaking her hair behind her back when she turned to face him. 

She wore a simple baby blue cotton bra and knickers that didn’t match, and Harry knew instinctively that this was ordinary underwear, not something she had chosen for her first time. She squirmed.

“Don’t stare,” she said.

“I like staring at you.” He returned his gaze to her face, cupping her cheek in one hand and leaning forward to kiss her. “You’re so beautiful.” The familiar pressure of holding in the words built in his chest, into the back of his throat, and as he felt her respond to his touch and melt against him, he knew this was the right time. He eased out of the kiss and waited for her to open her eyes. 

“I love you.”

“Oh, Harry.” The hand on the back of his neck tightened, and Ginny leaned her forehead against his. “I love you too.”

She took his hands and pulled him down to the bed. 

()()()()

Harry lay on his side beside her, breathing hard. “All right?”

“Mm-hmm.” 

She turned into him and he helped her straighten out the covers, getting up just long enough to crawl underneath them himself before pulling her into his arms again. Having her skin against his everywhere they touched felt incredible.

“I’m sorry it was so fast.”

“It was our first time. Nobody’s perfect the first time.”

He pushed her hair back from her face and kissed her. “I love you,” he said again, just for the pleasure of saying it. 

“I love you.” She smiled.

He liked making her smile too, so he kissed her again. When he broke the kiss, Ginny was dazed and panting.

Merlin, she was beautiful. So perfectly beautiful, and he was still amazed that she had chosen him, the boy from the cupboard. 

()()()()

Ginny grinned when Harry's stomach growled. "I'm hungry too."

But neither one of them made a move to get out of bed.

“It just so happens there is a full meal laid out on the table already,” Harry said.

“There is? How did I miss that?”

“You made a beeline for the telly, remember?”

She laughed. “I must have made you really nervous.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Harry?”

“What?”

“I’m hungry,” she repeated.

“So, get up and we’ll eat.” His innocent expression needed a lot of work.

“I’m not dressed.”

“And that’s a problem because….”

“Don’t be such a boy.”

His upturned mouth stretched into a full-blown smirk. “And here I thought that was what you liked about me.” He put his hand behind her head and pulled her into a lazy, open-mouthed kiss, when his stomach growled again.

“Go,” Ginny said, shoving at one shoulder.

“Why me?”

Ginny felt her face heating again. “Harry, I need to clean up. Go pour us drinks or something.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” 

They avoided each other’s eyes as Ginny rolled away and Harry sat up, but once his back was to her, she turned her head to watch him. Harry wasn’t built, exactly, but he had lost the scrawny look he’d worn right after the Battle three months ago. The muscles in his back bunched and flexed as he bent down to pick up his pants and trousers off the floor, and she caught a glimpse of his bare backside as he stood and pulled them up. She waited for him to close the bedroom door behind him before getting up with the sheet wrapped around her and picking up her wand. She shuddered, remembering how they had almost forgotten the contraception charm. Thank goodness it worked for twenty-four hours; she planned to make the most of this trip. 

Ginny opened the door and peered around it. Harry stood at the table fiddling with the silverware. Her handbag lay on the bathroom counter, the first room she had investigated upon entering the suite. Still wrapped in the white sheet, Ginny picked up the excess, darted across the hall, swiped her handbag from the sink, and closed the bathroom door behind her. It wasn’t until after she relieved herself and was standing naked in the bathroom that she realized her mistake: all her clothes were still in the bedroom. 

Her eyes fell on her handbag. Hermione’s last words to her had been, “If you need anything, look in your bag,” and what Ginny really needed right now was a clean pair of knickers and some comfortable clothes.

Hermione did not disappoint. Ginny’s hand—wrist, forearm, elbow!—disappeared into the newly undetectable depths of her favorite handbag. She counted no less than six pairs of her nicest knickers, denims, a skirt, several cute tops (some of which belonged to Hermione), three camisoles, two bras (both of them nicer than the one she had been wearing; why hadn’t Hermione said something this morning!), one pair of pajamas, her Harpies nightshirt, and—yes, her Quidditch track pants. Ginny dressed in a black cami, a pair of black bikinis, and the track pants and put everything back in her charmed handbag. She gave her hair a quick brushing, and, after debating for entirely too long whether it made her look as if she were trying too hard, applied a light coat of lip gloss.

She stood with her hand on the bathroom doorknob, inexplicably nervous. It was just Harry; it was just dinner. They must have eaten together hundreds of times over the years, but— _never when you’ve just made love. Never when you’re planning on doing it again as soon as you swallow your last bite_. Oh, this was ridiculous.

Ginny opened the door.

()()()()

Dinner passed in laughter as they shared cold roast with soggy vegetables and jacket potatoes. The roast wasn’t bad (Ginny loved beef in about any form), but the potatoes remained stone-cold despite Harry’s attempts at a warming charm. Her birthday cake was delicious, and whoever had served them had the foresight to put the ice cream on ice, so it was soft but not melted. Both of their wineglasses were empty, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that the meal was over.

“I guess we should get ready for bed,” Harry said.

She followed his gaze to the clock and was shocked to see it was past ten-thirty. “What about all this?” She waved her hand at the table between them.

“I’ll set it outside the door for the staff to pick up. You can have the bathroom first.” He smiled, but not as easily as usual, and Ginny was reassured to know he was nervous too.

She dug in her handbag again and emerged with toothbrush and toothpaste, brushing busily as Harry carried the tray of serving bowls and dishes past her into the hallway. Trying to forget everything she had been taught by her brothers, Ginny spit as gracefully as she could. When she straightened up, Harry was behind her.

“Do you want me to see if Hermione put your toothbrush in my handbag?”

“No need.” Harry pulled a small bag from his pocket and reversed the shrinking charm. 

Of course. He had known they were spending the night. 

“Okay, I’ll just—I’m gonna—go in there.” 

Ginny leaned back against the bedroom wall. She was sooo nervous, and they had already done it! But she hadn’t known they were going to have sex the last time, it had just sort of happened, and this anticipation was nerve-wracking. Poor Harry; no wonder he had been distracted at the cinema! Her eyes fell on the bed, stripped to its bottom sheet with the duvet wadded in the floor, and she pulled the top sheet she had wrapped around herself earlier out of her handbag and spread it out, making the bed quickly. After fumbling with the switch, she turned on the bedside lamp and extinguished the candles with her wand. As beautiful and romantic as they were, she didn’t want to have to worry about them later. She could hear Harry finishing in the bathroom and summoned her discarded clothes from the floor, directing them into her bag. She set it and her wand on the bedside cabinet, shoved her track pants down before she could think twice, and was still arranging the sheet over herself when Harry walked into the room.

He unbuttoned the first few buttons and pulled his shirt over his head, then dropped his trousers (Ginny giggled when he deliberately stepped out of them) and climbed into the bed. He took off his glasses and set them on his bedside cabinet, and her heart skipped a beat. She loved looking into Harry’s eyes without his glasses.

“Now we’re matching, eh?”

“What? Oh.” 

She was still sitting up, and Harry was looking at her black cami and knickers.

“You took your glasses off.”

“I can still see colors.”

“Well, I didn’t know,” she said defensively. “Hermione should have told me.”

“I asked her not to. Besides, I don’t care. I think you look beautiful in anything.”

She smiled and lay down beside him. They were close but not touching.

Until Ginny reached out and brushed the scar in the center of his chest. It was unusual, still pink with newness and thicker at the edge, almost like one scar laid over another.

“Tell me about this one.”

Harry moved her hand away and went very still. “I can’t,” he said finally.

She watched his face and considered how to reply. “Can’t … or won’t?” 

“Er—a little of both, actually.” He dropped her hand to push her hair over her shoulder. “Please don’t be mad,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to argue with you, not tonight.”

She wasn’t mad, exactly, but she wasn’t going to pretend, either. They had been sharing stories and intimacy all summer, and now despite the full physical intimacy, he was still keeping some stories from her. She couldn’t help wondering what he was waiting for.

“Why can’t you tell me?”

Harry sighed and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “For one of them, you need to know something else first and we decided Hermione would be the best person to tell you. For the other—I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So, it is two scars then?”

“Yes.”

Ginny realized that was the most she was going to get from him tonight, and she knew he would tell her eventually. It had taken Harry a long time to tell her he loved her, and that was something happy and wonderful. It only made sense it would take him even longer to share something sad and difficult. Besides, Harry was right. She didn’t want to fight with him tonight, not when there were other fun things to do. She closed the distance between them and laid her head on his shoulder. Harry pulled his arm from underneath her and held her close.

“Do you want to get the light?” he asked.

“Actually, I thought … you said—you said next time, I could….”

Harry’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly, and Ginny grinned, feeling much more confident all of a sudden.

“That is, unless you don’t want me to….”

“No! I mean, yes! I mean—“ He took a deep breath, and she laughed.

“Kiss me.”

Harry had this way of kissing her that made Ginny forget everything else, that absorbed her completely, and he did it now, cradling her face in his hands as he drew her tongue into his mouth, then his hands roaming everywhere, her back, her sides, her bum.… She moaned encouragement. They had only recently (well, relatively recently, considering they’d been snogging like mad for three months) discovered she loved kissing with Harry’s hands on her bum. He indulged her, massaging lightly, and she sighed into his mouth.

“Are you serious?” he whispered.

It took her several seconds to process the question, but when she did, she nodded. She had wanted to touch Harry, to see him, almost as long as they had been going out. With a swift kick at the sheet, she exposed them down to about knee level and sat up, letting her gaze travel along his shoulders, his chest, his flat abs, and lingering on the line of dark hair that disappeared under the waistband of his pants. Harry shifted restlessly.

“You stared at me,” she pointed out.

“But you’re beautiful.”

Ginny started to laugh, then stopped at the vulnerable expression on Harry’s face. He wouldn’t quite meet her eyes, and his posture was rigid.

“So are you.”

He scoffed.

“I’ve _always_ thought you were good-looking, Harry. You have to know that.”

He reached a hand to his face, rubbing his scar in what Ginny knew was an unconscious gesture. Her eyes narrowed. _Those damn Dursleys_.

“I stare at you a lot,” she said honestly. “I just don’t usually let you catch me at it.”

“You should.”

“You think so?” She would, if it kept Harry from thinking of himself as a freak. 

He nodded, looking straight at her now, and those green eyes….

“Well then, take them off.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two scars: one from the locket after the visit to Godric’s Hollow (Hermione says she had difficulty getting it off him and finally had to use a Severing Charm) and one from the Killing Curse in the Forbidden Forest.


	38. Chapter Thirty-Seven

Ginny woke to bright sunshine and a feeling of contentment even before she remembered where she was. Opening her eyes, she saw Harry sprawled beside her, still asleep. She had followed Tonks’s advice, and they had made love again, just as tender and a little less awkward. Ginny’s hands itched to touch him, but Harry still startled easily in his sleep. 

“Harry. Harry, wake up.” She slid her hand down and touched his hand, then laced her fingers with his and squeezed gently. 

He mumbled into his pillow.

“Harry, it’s Ginny. Wake up.” She tugged on his hand. 

He rolled towards her and threw an arm over her stomach.

“Harry?”

“’s too early.”

“Too early for this?” She turned her head and kissed his neck.

He shifted and kissed her mouth, a lazy, languid kiss that spread heat low in her belly. Despite their previous activities, she had been a little too shy to sleep nude, and Harry had loaned her his shirt. He slid his hand beneath its hem. 

“How much time do we have?”

“Check-out is at noon,” Harry said, fingering the ends of her hair that splayed over her breasts.

“What did you tell Mum and Dad?”

His hand stilled, and all contentment vanished. 

She looked at him. “You did tell them something, right?”

“You’re seventeen. We’re both of age. We can go wherever we like.”

Ginny sat up, mouth agape. “Are you trying to tell me that we’ve been gone overnight, and my parents have no idea where we are?”

“I told your dad I was taking you into Muggle London,” he said defensively.

“Did you tell him we were staying the night?”

“Of course not!”

“Harry!” She flung back the covers and stood up.

“What? You expect me to tell your dad—“

“You should have told somebody! Godric, Harry, I thought you had covered for us.” It had never occurred to her … Harry had obviously planned the whole thing out, had had Hermione’s help … Ginny just assumed he had given some explanation for their absence….

“With who, Ron? ‘Hey, mate, I’d like to spend the night shagging your sister. Will you lie to your parents for us?’”

“He’s your best mate!” 

“He’s your brother!” Harry had sat up too.

“We’ve covered for him and Hermione,” she said, darting around the room gathering her belongings. “Besides, if he didn’t know before, he knows now.”

“But—“

“Don’t just sit there, get dressed! We have to get back to the Burrow.”

Harry looked bewildered. “But I waited until after your birthday.“

Ginny looked up. “Being of age doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you like, Harry. It means you’re responsible enough to tell people where you’re going and when you’ll be back, to be accountable for your actions. Mum and Dad are going to be worried sick.”

“But—“

“It’s not even about the sex. It’s the fact that we disappeared without telling anyone. Oh, we’re going to be in so much trouble,” she moaned, imagining herself confined to her room until September first. 

“It never occurred to me that we would need a cover story.”

This stopped Ginny in her tracks. “It never occurred to you that my mother would panic if we didn’t come home? I know she hasn’t been herself this summer, but she’s going to notice two empty beds. Especially when we don’t show up for _breakfast_. Not to mention my brothers.” Ron she could handle, but Charlie was home too … and Mum would have Floo-called Bill. And Percy. And maybe even George. _Oh, Merlin_. The innocent baby sister routine was obviously out.

Harry looked confused and ashamed, and Ginny took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Surely you had to tell your aunt and uncle where you were going when you left the house? Didn’t you have a curfew?”

He shook his head. “They didn’t care what I did. In fact, they liked it best when I was out of the house.”

Yet another reason to hate Harry’s relatives: they hadn’t even bothered to make sure he was safe. “Well, my parents certainly care. All right, then, leave Mum to me. But get dressed—we really do need to go home, now.”

“Ginny?”

“Yes?” She leaned against the doorway, tapping one foot.

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

()()()()

Ginny and Harry Apparated to the Burrow. Still holding his hand, she opened the back door and led a very reluctant Harry into the kitchen. 

“I see you’ve decided to grace us with your presence.” Mum sat in wait at the kitchen table.

“We’re really so—“

“Beds empty! No note! No explanation, no Floo-call, not even an owl!” She stood up so abruptly her chair fell over. “I would never have expected this from either of you! I’m very disappointed in you, Harry.”

He looked, if possible, even more hangdog. “I’m sorry, Mrs. We—“

“We don’t hear from you for nine months— _nine months!_ —and then you disappear with my daughter without a word.”

“I—“

“You didn’t think I had enough sleepless nights during the war? You thought I had forgotten what it was like to imagine my children dead? Lying helpless in some gutter, or worse yet, dragged to a Muggle hospital and stuck with needles?”

“Mum—“

“You think just because there’s no longer a price on your head, Harry Potter, that you’re safe? There must be half a dozen Death Eaters still on the loose, and I’m sure they’d like nothing better than to torture and kill you! And Ginevra.”

Ginny backed up, just a half-step, but Mum closed the gap, looking all the more fierce for the dark circles under her eyes.

“Your brothers have been worried sick.”

Actually, Ginny rather suspected her brothers knew exactly where she’d gone and what she’d been doing and hadn’t been at all worried.

“Charlie went to St. Mungo’s when we discovered you and Harry were missing, and Percy checked with the Aurors and the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, but your bodies had not been recovered.”

Ginny opened her mouth, but her mother pressed on.

“Which was no comfort whatsoever, considering the proliferation of disappearances over the last few years. Nearly twenty-four hours, Ginny! Your father had to leave for work this morning without knowing where his daughter was or if she was safe!”

“It was an accident,” Ginny cut in. “I thought Harry told you, he thought I had. It wasn’t until this morning that we realized there was a mix-up. We knew you would be worried, so we came straight home.”

Mum’s gaze was sharp. “Straight home from where?” 

Ginny looked her in the eye. The most important part of lying was knowing when to tell the truth. “Chadwick House, in London.”

Harry choked. 

There was an agonizing silence broken only by Ginny’s heartbeat in her ears as she and her mother stared at each other. Then Mum pursed her lips. 

“Well then, you’ll have had a good night’s rest. Harry, the garden needs degnoming, and when you’re done with that, pick the vegetables. Ginny, clean the chicken coop, then come join me in the house. Breakfast is on the stove, then I expect you both to get to work—without magic.”

()()()()

Having picked every ripe bean, cabbage, pepper, cucumber, and tomato in the Weasleys’ sizable vegetable patch, Harry wrestled the last bushel basket into the pantry and stretched his back. He tiptoed across the empty kitchen and peered into the sitting room, but Mrs. Weasley was nowhere in sight. Bounding up the stairs two at a time and taking special care to be quiet outside her room on the fourth floor landing, Harry entered Ron’s room and flopped on his camp bed with a sigh of relief.

“Finally escaped, have you?” Ron said, amused.

“You could have helped.”

“She is my sister.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And you’re my best mate. Why didn’t you ask me to cover for you?”

Harry shrugged, watching a black spider build a web in the corner. “I thought since she was of age, it wouldn’t matter.”

Ron shook his head in disbelief. “Sometimes, Harry, it is painfully obvious you grew up without a mother. It _always_ matters. Even Bill and Charlie tell Mum when they’re going out, or at least Bill did before he got married, and they haven’t lived at home in years.”

“That’s what Ginny said, that it wouldn’t be about—that she would be most upset about us disappearing.”

“Went spare, she did. I think Charlie went to St. Mungo’s just to get out of the house. It wasn’t until Dad reminded Mum how they spent her first birthday after they were married that she stopped imagining you were being _Cruicio_ ’d.”

Harry stared at the ceiling, pretending more interest in the spider, which Ron hadn’t noticed yet. “How—what do I do to get her to like me again?”

“Who, Mum? She still likes you.”

“She yelled at me.” Just thinking about it made his heart shrivel.

Ron studied Harry thoughtfully. “You’ve never been yelled at because you were loved, have you?”

Harry broke his contemplation of the spider to stare at Ron. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Remember when me and Fred and George flew the car to get you away from the Muggles?”

“Yes.”

“Remember Mum’s reaction?”

Harry grinned. He had been most relieved her anger wasn’t directed at him that morning. “How could I forget?”

“She yelled at us, fed us breakfast, and—“

“Sent you to degnome the garden,” Harry said slowly. Just like she’d done to him this morning. He felt his heart re-expand just a bit.

“She treated you just like one of us, which means she loves you, which means she worries about you. You love her back by not doing stupid shit like disappearing overnight.”

“It’s just weird, considering I’ve done a lot more dangerous things than spend the night in a hotel.”

“Every other time you nearly died,” Ron reminded him. “She thought maybe this time you had.”

“You’re … okay with this?” Harry said hesitantly.

“I talked to Ginny.”

Of course he had. 

“She said you were perfectly lovely, and she had a wonderful time. As long as Ginny’s happy, you and I are good.”

“I think she’s mad at me,” Harry admitted. “For getting her into trouble.”

“That’s because she knows you’ll have a hell of a time meeting up this year now that Mum’s on the watch. You could have said you were going to stay with Hermione, or to see Hagrid, or anything.”

“Your parents would have seen right through that.”

“Of course they would. But at least then they would have known you weren’t coming home on purpose rather than being kidnapped by Death Eaters. I almost told Mum you were staying at Grimmauld Place, but she was so wound up by then I was afraid she would go over there looking for you.”

Harry remembered the terrible look on Mrs. Weasley’s face when she had said she was disappointed in him. “You’re sure there’s nothing—“

“This is family stuff, Harry. You screw up, you get yelled at, you take your punishment, but you’re still loved. We took Percy back, didn’t we?”


	39. Chapter Thirty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The photo of Harry and Ginny was inspired by this fanart: http://uknow-who.deviantart.com/art/Peace-115176129

Ginny lay on her bed clutching a photograph. It was one of Colin’s, taken when she and Harry were together at Hogwarts. They sat in the sunshine on the open lawn, Harry behind her with one leg stretched out on either side and Ginny with a textbook in her lap; she thought it might have been Astronomy. Ginny watched herself close the book, saw Harry’s face light up in a smile, and they kissed. She touched the photograph with one finger, remembering.

She hadn’t bothered going to the orchard tonight. Bill and Fleur had come for dinner, as had Percy, and Ginny knew everyone would be expecting her and Harry to sneak out. She kind of hoped Harry might come down to her room after everyone was asleep, but she didn’t really think he would, not after Mum had yelled at him this morning. Her parents’ opinion mattered so much to Harry, which was why she was so surprised that he’d just run off with her. Ginny set down the photo and rifled through the stack for another one.

“Ginny?” Her mother knocked on her open door. “May I come in?”

She nodded her permission and sat up. She had been waiting for Mum to corner her all day. Mum closed the door behind her, picking up Ginny’s hairbrush before joining her on the bed.

“What’s that?”

It was Harry and Teddy from his first visit to the Burrow. Teddy had grown so much bigger already.

Mum smiled at the picture. “You remembered the contraception charm?”

“We did.”

Ginny turned her back to her mother and crossed her legs as Mum began a ritual as old as—well, as old as Ginny.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been much of a mother this summer.” She set the elastic on the desk and began unraveling Ginny’s plait.

She tried to jerk around, but Mum turned her forward. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Don’t pretend. Your father and I have noticed, and appreciated, all your help.”

“It’s nothing,” Ginny muttered.

“No, it’s not. It’s the behavior of a woman who notices a need and steps up to meet it, not a girl who waits for someone else. You have had to grow up faster than I would have liked, but I have noticed.”

Ginny closed her eyes as Mum finished with the plait, sliding her hands over her scalp and massaging gently as she shook the hair loose. Both women were quiet for several moments.

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Ginny bit her lip. Did she?

“He had it all planned out. We went to the cinema, and he let me pick the film and bought us snacks.”

“The Muggle cinema? You’ll have to tell your dad all about that.”

Ginny hesitated. “I suppose. Harry said he’d planned a private dinner, so after that we walked to the hotel and went upstairs. I just thought the restaurant was on the top floor, and then I got distracted by the lock—the key was actually a card, and the lock had little red and green lights on it to tell you whether it was locked or not, and then the room, and the telly, and—I think he had planned for us to eat first, but I—I opened the door to the bedroom, and….” She felt herself blush.

Mum continued brushing her hair in long strokes, fanning it out over her back. “He was gentle with you?”

Ginny nodded.

“Is there anything you want to ask me?”

She shook her head. Maybe if Mum had offered a few days ago, but … she and Harry did okay figuring it out together.

“You didn’t know he booked a room, did you?”

“It was a surprise. The whole day was a surprise—Harry hadn’t told me about the cinema, either. It took me ages to decide on a film.”

“So, there wasn’t really a mix-up. Harry just didn’t tell us.”

“He didn’t know any better, Mum,” Ginny said earnestly, turning to face her. “His aunt and uncle never cared where he went, and he thought since I was of age we could go wherever we wanted. He was really confused about why I was upset when I found out he hadn’t told you and Dad anything, and you saw his face in the kitchen. He was devastated.”

“I hope you explained.”

“I did. I think Ron talked to him too.”

“Mmm.” Mum picked up the brush again.

“I thought you would be mad. You know, that we didn’t wait.”

Mum sighed. “I was at first. Running off is not the way to demonstrate the responsibility and maturity required for a serious relationship—“

“I know! I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t know, and you can’t blame Harry—“

“I’m not blaming Harry—at least not any more than you. But it’s done now. And—“ She tipped Ginny’s head to the side, brushing carefully around her ear— “I was only eighteen when I married your dad.”

“I know.”

“My last year at Hogwarts, away from Arthur, was one of the longest years of my life.”

Ginny looked down. “I don’t want to go back. I know I have to, but after last year—and Harry—it feels like my life isn’t there anymore. For the first time, everything I want is outside of Hogwarts.”

“Harry is going to be busy with Auror training. He won’t have much time for you, anyway.”

“I know. But we’d have more time if I wasn’t at school.”

“Ginny … are you sure, love?” 

She set down the brush, and Ginny turned so they were facing each other again.

“I love him, Mum. You know I do. And he loves me.” She couldn’t help the smile that appeared at those words. Harry Potter loved her, Ginny Weasley! No more wishing, no more hoping or wondering or guessing or assuming. He had said so himself. Several times.

“You remember that,” Mum said, smiling back and laying a hand on her cheek. “You and Harry have had an idyllic summer, but it’s hard work to keep a relationship together. Remember this feeling when things get tough.” She stood up. “And Ginny? As long as you live here, I expect to know—“

“Who I’m with, where we’re going, and when I’ll be back,” Ginny recited. “I know, Mum. I promise.” 

()()()()

“Let’s go for a walk,” Ginny said.

Harry looked out the window, where it was still light outside. “Now?”

Ginny indicated the spotless kitchen. “We’re done here.”

“All right.”

He followed her outside, taking her hand as they descended the back steps.

She leaned into his shoulder. “I had a really good time Wednesday. I liked being out with you.”

“Yeah? Me too.” He squeezed her hand. “We haven’t been to the orchard this early in a while.”

She shrugged. “No point in pretending anymore, is there?”

They crossed the garden and climbed over the hedge in silence, not stopping until they were in the center of the paddock. 

“Ginny….” Harry looked around nervously. Evening shadows were just starting to edge out from the trees, leaving most of the field exposed.

“Do the charms, Harry.”

“What?”

“The protective charms you used to hide from Voldemort.”

His mouth opened and closed. “I don’t have anything to cast them against.” 

“Then conjure something. It doesn’t have to be big, just—just enough for the two of us.” Ginny felt the prickling of a blush on her ears but didn’t look away from him. “Everyone already knows, Harry.”

He stared at her, his green eyes intent behind the round glasses.

“Do you want to be with me?”

“Yes.” No hesitation, no qualification.

Ginny pulled out her wand and conjured a mattress, then with a second wave, added a blanket. “Your turn.”

Harry looked from the mattress, to her, then in the direction of the Burrow, fingering his wand.

“Do you want to go to my room?”

He looked back at her again. “Not tonight. Sit down.” He waited for her to do so, then walked around the mattress, muttering spells. When he had completed a circle, he walked away from her, turned, and walked back. “They’re good. Do you want to see for yourself?”

She shook her head. “I trust you.”

Harry sat beside her, placed one hand on the back of her neck, and lowered her onto her back.

()()()()

“It’s beautiful tonight,” Ginny said, watching the stars twinkling above them. Whatever spells he had cast, they were still able to see out through them. 

“I hadn’t noticed,” Harry said, nuzzling her. “You’re beautiful.”

She smiled and tipped her face up to kiss him. “I love you.” It felt amazing to say it, a rush of love and joy and relief all at once.

“I love you.” 

Ginny’s smile widened to goofy proportions.

“That makes you happy, does it?” he said.

“Very much so. Are you happy?”

“I didn’t—“ His voice cracked, and he tightened his arm around her waist. “I didn’t know it was possible to be this happy until you.”

Ginny kissed him again, a familiar slow, sweet kiss. “We should go back,” she said reluctantly, and stood.

Harry vanished their bedding and undid the protective charms. It was full dark now, and he took her hand as they walked back to the house.

“Can we see another film tomorrow?” Ginny said. 

“Do you think your mum will let you go with me?”

“If we tell her when we’ll be home and show up on time.”

“I’m really sorry about that, Ginny.”

“I know. It was an accident.”

“Ron said your mum will be on the lookout now.”

“For a while,” she agreed. “Until she can trust us again. Which is why I want to go to London tomorrow, so she’s not so paranoid when I come home at Christmas.”

“Maybe … maybe Hermione could meet us?”

Ginny smiled. “You miss her, don’t you?”

Harry gave that twitchy shrug he did whenever she got too close to something he didn’t want to talk about. “She was gone for a long time. And … you’ll both be at Hogwarts soon. It will be just me and Ron.”

“That’s going to be dreadful for you.”

He laughed. “No, I mean—well, Ron and I will have plenty of time to catch up. We’re going to be living together, we’re going to Auror training together. Hermione … she’s going to finish Hogwarts and move in with Ron and….”

“She’s not going to forget about you, Harry.”

They had turned and walked around the pond instead of past it. Harry was quiet for a few minutes.

“I haven’t been away from Hermione since the Halloween I was eleven. Even at the Dursleys, I got letters.”

“I know. I miss her too.” 

Harry sent her a quick glance that Ginny pretended not to notice. “I just miss hanging out with her and Ron. Both of them.”

“The Golden Trio,” Ginny teased, repeating the DA’s nickname.

He grimaced. 

“Why don’t you call her? You could walk down to the village and use the telephone there.”

“It’s no good for an actual conversation—you have to keep inserting money every few minutes.”

“Oh. Well, you could call her tomorrow,” Ginny said. “See if she can meet us in Muggle London.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think her parents would let her come just because. They didn’t like her coming over for our birthdays, remember?”

“Yeah, but that was at the Burrow. We’d be in Muggle London, seeing a Muggle film.”

Harry’s expression brightened. “Maybe so. I’ll call her. I’ll ask Ron too.”

They had set off towards the Burrow, and as they approached the back door, Ginny decided she had to say it. “Is it okay if I come too?”

“What?”

“Tomorrow. If Ron and Hermione come, is it okay if I do too?”

“Of course it’s okay! You’re the one who wanted to see another film.”

Ginny focused on the clutter of wellies and old cauldrons to the side of the steps. “I know, but … you said you missed Ron and Hermione. Hanging out with the two of them, together. And I thought—“

Harry put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Of course I want you around,” he said firmly. “We might go off and do something occasionally, but if you want to come, all you have to do is say so. Okay?”

Ginny fiddled with her new ring, twisting it around her finger. “I don’t want you to think that I’m butting in, or I don’t respect your friendship….”

“You’re not butting in. Unless—“ He looked anxious. “Do you not want them to come?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Kind of.” She could feel his gaze on her face, but she didn’t look up.

“You kind of do, or you kind of don’t?”

“Yes.”

He gave an impatient sigh, and she hid a smile.

“Ginny?”

“It’s nothing.” She was being silly. Childish.

“Okay.” Harry turned and opened the door and Ginny’s temper flared.

“That’s it?”

“What’s it?”

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

“About what? You said it was nothing.”

“Well, I was obviously lying!”

Harry stepped back outside, closing the door behind him, their height difference exaggerated as she stood a step below him. It made Ginny feel even more childish and she moved up, crowding against him on the narrow stoop.

“I’m not going to force you to talk about something,” he said flatly. “I hate it when people do that to me.”

Ginny opened her mouth, then closed it. She looked away. “I don’t want you to laugh at me.”

“I’d never laugh at you!” He sounded shocked. “Unless you were doing something funny, of course. But not like—not like making fun.”

“You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“Just tell me. Does it have something to do with Ron and Hermione?”

She nodded.

“What, you’re afraid I’ll forget about you and spend all my time with them?”

She could tell by the tone of his voice he was smiling, and she turned back to him with a small shove against his shoulder. “You’ve done it before!”

He didn’t say anything at first, then, “That’s different. That was … before.” He reached out, brushing loose strands of hair away from her face. “We hung out together at Hogwarts, the four of us. In sixth year.”

“I know.”

“Ron and Hermione weren’t even a couple then.”

“I know.”

“They’ll probably forget all about us,” Harry said. He was very, very close.

“Probably.”

“I could never forget about you.” He kissed her, moving her against the door, pressing close.

()()()()

Ginny’s arms had found their way around his neck, and her head rested on his shoulder. “Was that really your favorite memory?”

“What?”

“On my birthday, when you talked about Teddy’s first visit.”

“Oh. Actually, I was thinking of another memory too.”

“Yeah?” 

“Mm-hmm.” He fingered the ends of her ponytail.

“What was it?” 

“Well … I was thinking about when I told you about Professor Snape and my mum. Remember?”

Ginny raised her head to look at him. “Really?”

“Why, what did you think I was going to say?” He grinned at her.

She felt her face heat and hoped it wasn’t noticeable in the darkness. “I thought you might have picked something else. Something more … personal.”

“I could have. But being able to share this stuff with you, what happened with Voldemort and my past, it’s—“ He cleared his throat. “It makes me feel closer to you.”

She kissed him, and it was several minutes before Harry broke it. 

“Stay with me,” Ginny pleaded. She didn’t want to hear him say they had to go in, didn’t want to be left alone at her door to watch Harry climb the stairs to his and Ron’s bedroom.

Harry buried his face in her neck and groaned. “I can’t. We wouldn’t wake up in time, you know we wouldn’t, and your mother would kill both of us. Like, really kill us this time.”

She tightened her arms around him. “I don’t care.”

“I don’t either, but….”

They stood like that for a long time, Ginny pressed against the door, Harry pressed against Ginny, arms wrapped round each other, breathing in unison. 

“I don’t want to go in,” Ginny whispered at last.

“Me neither.”

“Can you open the door without letting go of me?”

He gave a breath of laughter. “What, you want to climb the stairs like this?”

“Do you want to let go?”

Harry opened the door.


	40. Chapter Thirty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Credit and thanks to MandyinKC for letting me borrow her OCs of Oliver's family: Dougal, Fergus, Alex, Catriona, and Campbell. You can read about them in her fic "Pictures of You" on fanfiction.net.
> 
> 2\. Siân's name is Welsh, and the best I can determine is pronounced something between "shaun" and "sharn."
> 
> 3\. The Weasleys' party takes place over two chapters, and I will try to post the next one in the next couple of days.

“Have either of you seen George?” Percy stopped in front of Bill and Charlie sitting on the garden fence and lowered his voice so it wouldn’t carry to the guests who had already arrived.

“I assumed he was closing up shop,” Bill said, frowning.

It was the beginning minutes of the Weasleys’ We Have Plenty to Celebrate Party, so named because, as Ginny rightly said, End of Summer/Ginny’s Birthday/Ginny’s Captaincy/Percy’s Birthday/We Actually Won and Harry Lived was too long to fit on an invitation, even with magic. She should know, having addressed the dozens of invitations that went out to the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore’s Army, the defenders of Hogwarts, and personal friends of each member of the family, everyone from Arabella Figg to Oliver Wood. 

“It’s seven, and Mum is getting anxious.” Percy was anxious too. He was a veritable human Probity Probe these days, attuned to the mood of various family members, especially George.

Bill glanced towards the food table, where his mum directed the dishes brought by friends who had arrived on time. In just the few seconds he watched, she checked her watch twice.

“Do you think we should go get him?” Bill asked.

“Lee Jordan is here,” Percy said with a tilt of his head.

Bill noticed a young man with dreadlocks talking to Harry, Ron, and Hermione beside an old phonograph. Bill recognized him as Fred and George’s best mate, the one who had spoken at Fred’s funeral.

“I was thinking of asking him. I think George would take it better if a friend invited him to come to a party rather than one of us ordering him to.”

“Whatever makes you say that, Perce?” Charlie said sarcastically.

“Shut up, Charlie,” Bill said absently, staring at Lee. “The— George has lots of friends, right? See if you can get a bunch of them to go with Lee.”

Percy nodded once and walked off. Bill and Charlie watched as he walked up to the group. Percy shook hands with Lee and pulled him aside.

“Do you think he’ll ever get the stick out of his arse?” Charlie said, watching Percy’s earnest conversation.

Bill turned to him. “Who stuck one up yours?”

Charlie sighed and took a drink of his Butterbeer. “Just not in much of a partying mood.”

“Well, get in the mood. Mum and Dad have worked hard to make this a success.”

“You mean you and Ginny have worked hard.”

“Do I need to send you back to Romania so you can get up on the right side of the bed this time?”

Charlie blew out a breath. “ ‘We Have Plenty to Celebrate’?”

“We do. After the Battle—shit, after the Battle, it felt like we lost. Like life as we knew it was over. But—“

“We did lose. We, this family.”

“Not as much as we could have,” Bill said quietly. “You know that’s true, Charlie.” He waited a moment for his point to sink in, then added, “And punishing Percy won’t bring Fred back.”

Charlie shifted on the fence, his broad shoulders twitching as if he were trying to adjust the load they carried. “I’m not punishing him.”

“Then what’s with the attitude?”

Charlie didn’t answer right away, his eyes still fixed on Percy. “He’s trying too hard.”

“Of course he is. He disappeared for three years, then Fred died the same night he came back. And Fred was with Percy when he died.”

“So was Ron.”

“Ron didn’t feel responsible for him. Not the way Percy does. Did. Whatever.” Bill gripped the edge of the fence, ignoring the sharp edge of the wood biting into his palms.

Charlie sighed again and drained his Butterbeer.

“Come on, Char. He’s our brother. There’s not a single one of us that hasn’t been an arse at one point or another.”

“Percy’s the best at it.”

“You’re giving him some stiff competition tonight,” Bill said sourly, wishing he’d chosen someone else to spend the beginning of the party with. “Would a drink—a proper drink—improve your mood?”

“It’s just not a party without the two of them. Remember when they exploded my birthday cake? What was it, my eighth?”

“Ninth,” Bill said. “I remember thinking I only had to put up with their shenanigans for nine more months, and then I’d be at Hogwarts.” He waited until his mother’s back was turned and summoned a bottle of scotch, Charlie’s preferred poison. He passed the bottle to Charlie and waited while Mum greeted Hestia Jones before summoning two glasses.

“And speaking of birthdays—“ Charlie tossed his first shot back in one go— “When was the last time either of us had a party?”

Bill did laugh this time. “What, are you nine again?” Godric, Charlie had thrown a fit that day. Bill thought he actually had cried when his cake went flying all over the walls and ceiling of the Burrow’s kitchen.

“I’m serious.” Charlie poured refills, then sent the bottle zooming back to the drinks table. But Mum turned to set down another pudding and the movement caught her eye.

“Charlie Weasley!“

“Sorry, Mum,” he called. “I was just putting it back!”

Mum opened her mouth to continue her telling off but was distracted by the arrival of Mrs. Tonks and Teddy and immediately began cooing over the baby.

“Remind me to give the kid some cake,” Charlie said.

“He’s just a baby. He’s too little for cake.”

“You’re never too little for cake. And why do Ginny and Percy get to have parties just because they have summer birthdays?”

“Because it’s Ginny’s seventeenth and we’ve missed Percy’s last three birthdays. Yours is too close to Christmas, anyway.”

“Whose fault is that?” Charlie grumbled. 

The brothers were quiet for a few minutes, savoring the Scotch and surveying the scene, before Charlie said, “I miss them.”

Bill followed his gaze to where a toddler sat atop the burly shoulders of Oliver Wood.

Little Campbell Wood, Bill’s best mate Dougal’s son. Bill would not soon forget the night Dougal and his next-youngest brother, Fergus, had been killed on a mission for the Order, nor his mother’s grief at seeing the dead bodies of two boys she had treated as her own. They had been inseparable growing up: three Wood brothers, three Weasley brothers, three sets of best mates the same age. 

“Aye,” Bill answered, imitating the slight Scottish brogue he had not heard in too long. 

“Where’s Catriona?”

Bill did not have to look far to find Campbell’s mother. To say she was protective of her only son was like saying Merlin had been okay at magic. Widowed at twenty-six, the Muggle-born witch had fled Scotland with a young infant and not returned until earlier this summer. Bill and Fleur (and Percy) had been instrumental in her escape. 

“About two steps behind Oliver,” Bill said. “See her?”

Bill watched as Oliver swung Campbell off his shoulders and dangled him upside down. The tot’s shrieks of delight carried across the garden even as his mother tried fruitlessly to pull him from his uncle’s arms. 

“We should go take the piss,” Charlie said. “For Fergus.”

“For Dougal,” Bill agreed, and the brothers jumped down from the fence, heading for the professional Quidditch player who was now playing peek-a-boo from behind Campbell’s statuesque mother. 

()()()()

Ginny returned from releasing the fairies in the orchard to find her friend Siân Jernigan waiting for her, her blue-black hair shining in the low evening sun.

“Siân!” They embraced. “Did you get it? Head Girl?”

She nodded.

“Congratulations,” Ginny said warmly. 

“You too.” Siân waved her hand at the banner proclaiming Ginny’s captaincy.

“Thanks.” Ginny grinned. “Have you seen Libby? She promised to bring some of her mum’s biscuits.”

“Oh, really?” Siân’s eyes lit up. Libby’s mum’s biscuits were famous even outside of Gryffindor House. “We’d better wait by the food table, then. Ron was already loading a plate when I arrived.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“I know Hermione’s coming back because McGonagall included her on the list of prefects for this year,” Siân said as they crossed the garden towards the food tables. “But I didn’t see Ron’s name—and what about Harry?” 

“No, they’re starting Auror training in September.” She felt Siân’s eyes resting on her. 

“You’re going to miss him.”

Ginny took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m trying not to think about it.”

“Ah, well, N.E.W.T.s and Quidditch. You’ll be busy enough,” Siân reassured. “Who else is coming back, do you know? What about Dean? Or Dennis?” She grabbed a fistful of crisps as the girls staked out a spot at the head of the table, away from the line and facing the garden gate.

“I don’t know. I assume all the Muggle-borns will, but….” She shrugged.

“Yeah. Bad vibes,” Siân said. “So, lessons with Hermione Granger. What’s she like?”

“Swotty,” Ginny said promptly. 

Siân rolled her eyes. “I know _that_. Is she competitive?”

“Definitely,” Ginny said, remembering Hermione’s resentment of Harry’s stellar Potions marks thanks to the Half-Blood Prince.

“Can I beat her?” The dark-haired Ravenclaw was top of their year—at least before Hermione joined it.

“I don’t know,” Ginny said honestly. “It will depend on if you have any lessons she doesn’t and how hard you’re willing to work.”

“That sounds an awful lot like ‘no.’”

“She’s brilliant, Siân. Properly, genuinely brilliant. She loves school and learning and works hard. She took all twelve lessons in her third year. She’s still taking nine N.E.W.T.s, for Godric’s sake. That’s even more than Bill and Percy. Your best chance is to befriend her, ask her for help. I think she’s aware there may be some resentment.”

“I don’t resent her,” Siân said. “I’d want to finish school too.” 

“There you go,” Ginny said, smiling. “Say that to her on the first day of school and invite her to the library. She’ll be your new best friend, and I won’t have to make up an excuse not to come with her.”

Siân looked startled. “Hermione Granger? But—“

“If you can share a dormitory with Luna, you can be friends with Hermione. Although I wouldn’t invite both of them to the same study group,” Ginny added. “Look, here comes Libby.” 

“Ugh, I hate the Floo,” Libby Chen said. “I always fall against the side and end up with ash all over me.” She handed Ginny two containers of biscuits and began dusting herself off. “I can’t wait until we learn to Apparate this year.”

Past experiences with end-of-term packages from Libby’s Muggle-born mother had taught Ginny she was holding something called _Tupperware_ , an unbreakable, airtight container. She pulled up on the tab of one lid and inhaled. “Oh, my, Libby, did your mum just make these?”

“That’s why I’m late,” Libby said, backing away from Siân to give Ginny her own hug. “I had to wait for them to cool. Mum insists cooling charms make them soggy.”

“Mmm, these’re f’nt’stic,” Ginny mumbled, taking another biscuit before offering the container to Siân. “Tell your mum thank you from me.”

“Thanks, Libby,” Siân said, taking her own handful. “You two catch up. I’ll put them with the others.”

“So, how’s the summer romance?”

“Good.” Ginny blushed.

Libby laughed. “I should think so. Seriously, though, how is Harry? And Ron and Hermione?”

“They’re doing better,” Ginny said. “Harry’s nightmares aren’t as frequent and Ron’s not as mopey. I haven’t been able to see Hermione much. She’s spent most of the summer with her parents.” True enough, as far as it went.

“And how are you? With Fred … and everything….”

“I’m okay. My birthday was.…” She took a deep breath, remembering the fireworks and how one brother had shared two memories, instead of two with one each. “Bittersweet. But I got a new broomstick!”

“Really? Which one?”

She and Libby began walking towards the crowd in the back garden, and as they stopped again and again to speak to friends and classmates, Ginny’s spirits lifted. She had been so focused on what she would miss at Hogwarts that she had forgotten what she would gain.

()()()()

The scotch had helped. So had Charlie’s visit with Catriona and Oliver and the youngest Wood boy, Alex. A reminder that time moved on, children grew up, and grief became more bearable. Catriona, who was the closest thing Charlie had to a big sister (a completely different experience from having a little sister), had returned the teasing. Demanding to know why he had arrived at the party without a date, she offered to set him up with “a nice French girl” she had met while in hiding, to which Charlie replied that one French witch in the family was more than enough, thank you very much; a comment which had unknowingly been uttered in the presence of his sister-in-law and earned him a scathingly Gallic dismissal, much to everyone’s amusement.

Charlie surveyed the garden from his position on the back steps and concluded if there was one thing his family did well, it was parties. A long table alongside the house groaned with appetizers, finger foods, and puddings of all kinds, another sizable table of drinks, both alcoholic and non, paralleled that one, and loads of people of various ages milled around to great music. The garden itself was brightly lit by Muggle-style streetlights like the ones at Grimmauld Place, over his head hung two huge banners reading “Happy 17th birthday, Ginny! Gryffindor Quidditch Captain” and “Happy 22nd birthday, Percy!” in color-change ink, and up the hill, the orchard glowed like a fairy grotto. Charlie snagged another Butterbeer and headed for the large bonfire on the other side of the pond.

“Hey, Charlie!”

He turned around and his jaw dropped. Laughing, he caught the brunette witch who ran into his arms. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

Amy Green released him and stepped back. “I wasn’t sure myself, not until this morning.” 

She looked over her shoulder, and with her was a blond man Charlie had never met but knew at once. He hastily shifted his Butterbeer to his left hand and held out his right.

“Charlie, this is my boyfriend, David Townsend. David, this is Charlie Weasley.”

Townsend wore rather formal Muggle clothes: dark gray slacks, a button-down shirt, and a jacket. He had a firm grip despite his slight build and looked Charlie in the eye. Charlie squelched the instinct to like him immediately.

“I thought I was going to have to travel across the pond to meet you,” he said. “I certainly never expected to see you in England.”

“That’s what she said,” Townsend said, nodding at his girlfriend. “It’s good to know Amy has friends who are looking out for her. At any rate, it’s closer than Romania, and tonight it has all the attractions of Egypt.” He smiled and put his arm around her.

Charlie had never seen Amy look so besotted with anyone—or any thing. “Well, welcome. Have you met my parents?”

“Your mom is guarding the gate,” Amy said with a grin. “She’s already offered us more food than we had for dinner.”

“You should have known better than to eat before coming here,” Charlie scolded.

“Time difference,” Amy explained. “David’s still mixed up, so we’ve just been eating whenever we get hungry.”

“International Portkeys,” Townsend said. “Takes some time. I don’t mind Apparating to Egypt from Europe, but across an ocean is a little much.”

Charlie felt a flicker of irritation, then remembered Townsend probably didn’t know he had failed his first Apparition test. Amy looked hopefully between the two of them, so he decided to play nice. Within limits, of course. 

“I know what you mean. Seven years on the dragon reserve, and I still haven’t found a good way to get here from there.”

“That’s right, Amy mentioned you were a dragon tamer.”

Charlie was quite sure she had more than “mentioned” it. “The term’s dragon keeper, actually. You can’t tame a dragon.”

“Right. She also tells me you were the one who got her into this war business.” Townsend’s voice was cooler.

“She’s a fantastic witch. My brother Bill was a curse breaker in Egypt before he moved home to fight. Bloody brilliant in a duel, curse breakers are.” Charlie left unspoken the implication that ordinary bankers were useless, but Townsend seemed to catch it nonetheless. Charlie took a drink of Butterbeer.

“Where are Bill and Fleur?” Amy said, looking round without stepping away from her boyfriend.

“Over by the bonfire, last I saw. I was headed that way myself. Some of our old friends from Hogwarts are here. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

“Are there any marshmallows?” Amy said.

“I’ll find some,” Townsend said, and walked off towards the food table.

Amy swatted Charlie’s arm. “Stop acting like a jerk. You’re going to make him think there’s something between us.”

“I’m just trying to make sure he deserves you.” Charlie rubbed his arm.

“No man deserves me,” Amy said haughtily, and Charlie laughed. “Besides, he traveled thousands of miles to come tonight simply because I asked him to. And he worried during the war, that’s all.”

“Didn’t we all,” Charlie said darkly.

Townsend returned with two sticks stuffed with a dozen marshmallows apiece and handed one to Amy, walking between her and Charlie. 

“Is your brother one of these heroes Amy keeps talking about?”

“Most everyone here fought in the war, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Townsend seemed to realize he had gone a bit too far and said nothing else, but Charlie had a sudden thought. The last thing Bill needed was someone new reacting unfavorably to his scars. Charlie leaned around Townsend to give Amy a meaningful look.

“Charlie’s brother Bill was attacked by a werewolf last year,” she said matter-of-factly.

To his credit, Townsend’s only reaction was a sharp glance at Amy.

“He has some scars that couldn’t be healed—curse wounds, you know—but Fleur—that’s his wife, she’s French—Fleur says the only difference is now Bill likes his steaks rare. She and Bill sheltered several fugitives for a while.”

That was one way of putting it. As they crossed the garden, Charlie spotted Ron and Hermione talking with several people their own age.

“Here’s a couple of genuine heroes for you. Oi, Ronnie!”

The pet name got Ron’s attention immediately, as Charlie knew it would. Ron turned with a scowl that quickly faded when he saw Amy.

“All you Weasley boys are too tall,” she complained good-naturedly when she had to stand on tiptoe to hug him. She and Hermione smiled and exchanged “nice to see you”s.

“You wanted to meet some heroes, Townsend. Here’s two of the best. My kid brother Ron and his girlfriend, Hermione Granger.” Charlie allowed the pride he felt to show in his voice, and Ron looked at him in surprise. Usually any compliment among the brothers came with a good dose of sarcasm, but Charlie let the statement stand unmodified.

“It’s an honor to meet you. You’ve been in the papers even on our side of the ocean.”

Ron’s ears turned pink, but he looked pleased. Hermione gave the wizard a shy smile with her handshake.

“Nah, I just tried to keep the runt out of trouble,” Ron said. “Hermione here, she’s the brains of the whole thing.” He put an arm around her shoulders and beamed.

“Ron,” Hermione said quietly.

Townsend looked surprised, whether at Hermione’s modesty, Ron’s declaration, or the casual description of Harry as a runt, Charlie couldn’t tell. 

“I would have thought that was Harry Potter,” Townsend said mildly.

“Harry was supposed to be in charge, but we both just did whatever she said.”

Hermione laughed. “In my dreams,” she said, then blushed when all three men gave her speculative looks. “You’ve come a long way,” she said rather desperately to Amy.

“Bankers’ hours,” Amy said, grinning. “We actually came into London yesterday evening. Meeting here shortens the travel time.” She looked up at Townsend, who gave her a one-armed hug. “Gives us more time to spend actually being together. I was so glad when I got the invitation,” she went on. “Charlie has been nagging me about meeting David for months.”

“Sorry to interrupt, Captain.” 

Charlie turned to face a perky brunette with olive skin. She looked vaguely familiar, and she had called him _Captain_ , which meant he must know her from Hogwarts … probably Quidditch….

“Spinnet?” he said incredulously, the woman in front of him a far cry from the skinny little first-year who had stalked his Quidditch practices. “Damn, didn’t you grow up fine!” The words were out of his mouth before he approved them, and Charlie felt the back of his neck heat up as Alicia’s grin widened. Behind him, he heard Amy snigger. “I mean—“

“It’s good to see you too, Weasley. We’re trying to scrounge up enough players for a Quidditch match. You interested?”

Charlie hesitated.

“I’m in,” Ron said. “I’ll find Harry and Ginny too.”

“Great! Meet in the orchard in ten minutes.” Alicia left to find more players.

“Go on,” Amy said. “I see Bill. We’ll catch up with you later.”

“Don’t leave without saying goodbye,” Charlie warned, already backing towards the hedge.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“And stop smiling,” he said. “She’s just a kid.”

“Not anymore, _Captain_.”

“Shut up,” Charlie said, but he was grinning too. 

Amy always had that effect on him.


	41. Chapter Forty

“May I?”

Ginny looked up to see her Head of House looking expectantly at the seat beside her. “Of course.”

McGonagall sat down rather more stiffly than Ginny was used to seeing.

“How’s your shoulder?” Ginny said anxiously. “Is it still bothering you?” She had been the one to heal Professor McGonagall’s dislocated shoulder after the Battle, her first—and only—internal healing charm.

“No, of course not. You did a fine job.” McGonagall took a drink from her wineglass. “Congratulations on the captaincy.”

“Thank you,” Ginny said, feeling a smile break over her face like it did every time she thought about being Quidditch Captain.

“And since I feel I can say it with a clear conscience this year … many happy returns.”

“Cheers,” Ginny said quietly.

The two witches sat in silence for several moments, watching the party swirl around them as McGonagall continued to sip her wine. 

“Drink it in, Ginny.”

Ginny looked round at the unusual use of her given name. 

“I know it doesn’t seem so now, but you will learn that life passes by much too quickly. Drink it in. Your parents are wise. There is always something to celebrate, something to look forward to, something in which to hope. Like love, maybe?”

Ginny felt herself blushing at the all-too-familiar knowing look. “And a good Quidditch season.”

“Indeed.” Amusement laced the crisp voice. “You’ll have several open positions this year. Have you given it any thought?”

“At least one Chaser, a Keeper, and a Seeker.” Ginny sighed. Katie Bell, who had played Chaser when Harry was Captain (which was the last year there had been Quidditch), had left Hogwarts, and Ron and Harry weren’t coming back. “I think I’m going to hold tryouts for all the positions, like Harry did. None of us have played for two years. There will be lots of kids who weren’t old enough to try out the last time.”

A glimpse of messy black hair caught Ginny’s attention. Unsurprisingly, Harry had been waylaid on his way to the drinks table, and now he stood at the edge of the vegetable patch talking with Neville.

“I remember them as babies,” McGonagall said, following Ginny’s line of sight. “I was so glad to see them become friends at Hogwarts. Before the prophecy, before Lily and James and Frank and Alice went into hiding, they used to bring the babies with them to Order meetings. Lily or Alice would spread a blanket on the floor in the corner, set down a couple of toys, and the boys would play together. Harry had a stuffed animal, a lion I think, that he carried with him everywhere. Neville got hold of it one evening and—“ She laughed, or was she crying? “Good heavens, you’ve never heard such a racket. Moody thought someone had tripped the Caterwauling Charm, but you should have seen Sirius. He was on that boy even before Lily pushed away from the table. Harry quieted as soon as Sirius picked him up, but it took Albus several minutes to calm Moody.”

Ginny swallowed hard, having no trouble picturing a baby Neville and a baby Harry, their attentive mothers, a doting Sirius … Lupin had probably been there too….

“Gone, now,” the old witch said quietly. “They’re all gone….”

Ginny heard a soft _thump_ and bent down to pick up McGonagall’s empty wineglass. She had fallen asleep, slumped in her chair. Ginny moved her professor’s arm (McGonagall had become so much more than that, she thought) into a more comfortable position and, with a whispered incantation so as not to disturb her, conjured a blanket. She frowned. She had been trying for the familiar red tartan that decorated McGonagall’s office, but this one had more green in it, and the spacing of the lines was different. Oh, well; it would still shield her from the chilly night air. 

“Hey, everybody—“

“Shhh!” Ginny tucked the ends over Professor McGonagall’s shoulders and turned around. 

“Sorry,” Ron said in a much quieter voice. “Everybody’s gathering together for a Quidditch match in the orchard.”

Quidditch would be wonderful, the perfect way to blow away the melancholy induced by McGonagall’s memory. “Have you told Harry?”

“He’s waiting for us.”

Ginny banished the wineglass to the kitchen and followed Ron up the hill.

She couldn’t believe the number of people gathered in the center of the open field beyond the orchard: Charlie, Harry, Oliver Wood, Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, Demelza Robbins, Dean Thomas, Cho Chang, and a couple of other Ravenclaw players. When she saw George, who hadn’t flown with anyone in the family all summer, Ginny suspected Angelina and Alicia had something to do with his presence on the pitch. Ginny and Ron made enough players for two full teams.

“This is going to require a referee,” Hermione observed, taking in the crowd.

“Not you!” Ginny, Ron, and Harry all spoke at once.

“Actually, I was thinking of McGonagall. She knows the rules better than I.”

“She’s asleep,” Ginny said.

“She’d wake up for Quidditch,” Charlie said, and a murmur of agreement spread among the Gryffindor players.

“You go and wake her up then,” Ginny said.

All McGonagall’s former pupils laughed at the expression on Charlie’s face.

“Maybe we could just make a really loud noise.”

“Do you think the light from all our Patronuses would be bright enough?”

“What about an atmospheric charm? We could make it rain.”

“Pick a straw,” Hermione ordered, thrusting two handfuls of plastic straws into the center of the group.

“Why don’t we just make Hermione do it?” George said. “It was her idea.”

Ginny hid her smile as Hermione’s eyes widened when the entire group turned to her.

“Off you go, Granger,” Charlie said dismissively.

Hermione looked to Ron, who waved goodbye to her, and left the pitch.

“All right, let’s choose teams,” Oliver said, rubbing his hands together.

“How about the Captains against everyone else?” Ginny suggested. 

“There’s only five of you,” Alicia protested.

“There’s a bigger problem than that,” Charlie said.

“Two Seekers,” Harry said.

“Three Seekers,” Stewart Ackerley said, pointing at Cho, his fellow Ravenclaw.

“Harry and Charlie should play Seeker,” Cho said. “They’re both better players than I am. I can play another position.”

“All right, I’m playing with Charlie then,” Ginny said, hoping she wasn’t being too obvious. 

“Why?” Harry said with a hint of a pout.

“Because I never get to play with Charlie,” she said easily. Katie caught her eye and winked. Ginny grinned back. 

“We will choose captains first, and let the captains choose their teams,” McGonagall said, striding onto the pitch. 

Ginny looked round. Hermione had joined the crowd of spectators gathering at the edge of the apple trees, looking none the worse for wear.

“It should be someone who was a captain at school,” Demelza said.

“We have four experienced captains present,” McGonagall said. She reached into her robe pocket and pulled out what appeared to be four of the straws Hermione had conjured. “Weasley, Wood, Johnson, and Potter, a straw, if you please.”

Harry and Angelina drew the shortest straws and Charlie joined Angelina. Harry chose Ron, and Ginny was Angelina’s first pick.

“She was just kidding,” Charlie said as Ginny walked over to them, several yards away from Harry and Ron so each team could strategize in secret. “You didn’t have to pick her.”

Ginny stuck her tongue out. “I love you too.”

“I’m just saying—“

Harry took Alicia, and Angelina picked Katie.

“Don’t worry, Charlie, that’s not why I picked Ginny. We want her.”

“Why do we want her? No offense,” he added hastily when Ginny rolled her eyes.

“In addition to being a great Chaser, you’ve never seen a Seeker take as many Bludger hits as Harry,” Katie said. “He doesn’t even see them coming because he can’t keep his eyes off Ginny.”

Ginny smirked.

“Oh, brother,” Charlie sighed.

“Sister, actually.” She conjured an elastic, stuck it between her teeth, and began plaiting her hair.

“Damn,” Angelina said. “Harry just picked George, and he’s the only one with any Beater experience.”

“That’s not true,” Ginny said around her elastic. “Stewart has. He was one of the Ravenclaw Beaters the year after you left, Angelina.”

“You still need a Keeper,” Charlie warned.

“Yes, but that’s the only position Oliver ever played, and Harry’s already chosen Ron. Stewart!” Angelina waved the younger boy over. “I’m Angelina. I play Chaser. Do you know everyone else?”

Stewart said hi to Ginny and Katie before turning to Charlie, who stuck out his hand.

“Charlie Weasley.”

“Hi,” Stewart squeaked.

Apparently Charlie’s reputation extended beyond Gryffindor House.

“Oh, don’t be impressed,” Ginny said, tying off her plait. “He’s really just a great big prat.”

“Says the girl whose job it is to look good,” Charlie retorted.

“Just because I can score and look good doing it—“

“She can score in more ways than one,” Stewart said eagerly.

Katie and Angelina sniggered. Charlie crossed his thick arms and glared down at the shorter fifteen year old.

“I just meant—I just meant she can score _and_ distract the Seeker. What more could you ask for?”

“You do know she’s my baby sister?”

“Yes, sir.”

“See? I told you, a great, big prat.”

“Cho!” Angelina shouted.

Ginny realized Harry had chosen Demelza while she and Charlie were squabbling. No surprise there, with Ginny’s ex-boyfriend and Harry’s ex-girlfriend being among his other choices. Although given that he already had a Keeper, he was going to end up with Dean. Ginny eyed the Asian girl, who nodded at her. There was no love lost between them since Ginny had snatched the Snitch from under Cho’s nose to win the Cup two years ago, but really … that was a long time ago. 

()()()()

Harry was reluctant to quit without a capture of the Snitch, but it was too dark to see and McGonagall had called the match over.

“We’ll have to play again, Harry, in the daylight,” Charlie said.

“You’re on,” Harry said, and they shook on it. “Nice scoring,” he said to Ginny, slinging an arm around her shoulders as she approached. Her team had won, 210 to 150.

“Thanks. Are you okay? I saw you take a hit.”

Ron snorted. “Try five. And that was with me reminding the prat to keep his eyes off you and on the Snitch.”

“What Snitch?” Charlie said. “I never saw the thing again once McGonagall released the balls.”

“I did once, but it was right above us, and you two were at the other end of the field,” Hermione said. “Remember, Luna?”

“I was watching the fairies,” Luna said.

“I’m starving,” Ron said. “Do you think there are any of those stuffed pastries left?”

“They’re called samosas, Ron,” Hermione said patiently.

“They’re called delicious. Harry, you coming?”

“Do you want anything?” he asked Ginny.

“Whatever looks good to eat and a pumpkin juice, please.”

Harry returned a few minutes later with a plate for the two of them in one hand, Ginny’s pumpkin juice in the other, and a bottle of Butterbeer tucked under his arm. She and Luna were deep in conversation but stopped abruptly as he approached.

“I’m going to find Neville,” Luna announced. “See you later, Ginny. Bye, Harry.”

“See you, Luna. Neville?” Harry said, handing Ginny her juice before taking Luna’s spot.

“Apparently they’re a couple.”

Harry choked on his first swallow of Butterbeer. “Neville and Luna?”

Ginny shrugged. “She’s happy, and I thought Neville looked more relaxed than I’ve seen him in ages. See?”

Harry watched as Luna walked up to Neville, who smiled and reached out an arm to pull her against him. 

“Still … Luna?”

Ginny sat up straight. “What’s wrong with Luna?”

“Nothing!” Harry said hastily. “I just never pictured her—“

“As a girl?” Ginny’s voice had an unmistakable edge.

“With someone as down-to-earth as Neville.”

Ginny eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then took a handful of crisps from the plate. “I don’t think it’s serious,” she said. “I think they both needed someone this summer. Luna said he helped her and her dad rebuild their house.”

Harry set down the treacle tart. “I should have helped with that. It’s because of me it got destroyed in the first place.”

“You can’t be everywhere, Harry,” Ginny said gently. “Luna knows that.”

“Still….”

“Luna said Neville started Auror training.”

“Yeah, he told me. He has N.E.W.T.s this week too.” Distracted, Harry took a bite of treacle tart.

“Really?”

He nodded, swallowed, and took a drink of Butterbeer. “Percy’s been helping him with Charms and Muggle Studies.”

“Percy?” Ginny broke off a piece of sponge cake.

“Neville said McGonagall took an ad in the _Prophet_ and spread the word at the Ministry for O.W.L.- and N.E.W.T.-qualified wizards to tutor the fifth- and seventh-years for their exams. Percy, Bill, and Fleur all volunteered.”

“No one tells me anything,” Ginny grumbled.

“I think the orchard is getting pretty crowded,” Harry said, watching another couple climb over the hedge.

“I’m sure it is.” She leaned into his side. 

“Any ideas?” He could feel her hair brushing his arm, still bound from playing Quidditch.

“You haven’t seen anyone go in the house, have you?”

“What?” He looked down at her in surprise.

“The house. I haven’t seen anyone go in except Mum, and she came right back out. Have you?”

“Well, no, but….”

Ginny shifted to look at him, her expectant face clearly visible in the bright light from the lampposts. 

“I, uh, I don’t think your parents would approve.”

“I don’t think where we make love matters very much to them, Harry.” She laid one hand on his thigh. “There are plenty of people still here, and everyone is having a good time. We could be back almost before we’re missed.”

Harry looked from the crooked house with its dark windows back to the wide brown eyes of his girlfriend. “Okay.”

Her face lit up. “Yeah?”

He stood and reached down for her. “Let’s go.”

()()()()

They opened the back door to the sound of a baby crying, and Ginny knew they had missed their chance. “Is that Teddy?” 

“Must be. Mrs. Tonks must have brought him inside so he could sleep.”

They found Teddy in his basket in a corner of the sitting room, blanket wadded at the bottom by his kicking feet and chubby face red with indignation.

“Hey, mate, it’s all right,” Harry said, reaching down to pick him up. “We heard you. I’ve got you now.” 

Teddy clenched Harry’s shirt with both fists and settled down to a couple of whimpers. Harry dug one-handed in the bag beside the basket for a nappy. Ginny leaned against the doorway, watching. She had been apprehensive at first about the idea of Harry as godfather and a little jealous of the easy affection Harry showed to Teddy. But as the summer wore on and trust grew between Mrs. Tonks and Harry through a series of regular visits, it became obvious that Harry and Teddy were good for each other. Teddy rarely cried in Harry’s presence, and the baby never failed to make Harry smile. 

They were both smiling now—laughing, in fact, as Harry had successfully completed the nappy change and proceeded to blow raspberries on Teddy’s tummy. The baby shrieked in delight, his rolling giggles prompting Harry’s own laughter. The sound was contagious, and Harry turned when Ginny joined in. His sheepish look only made her laugh harder.

“What?”

She crossed the room and kissed him. “Nothing.”

Deprived of entertainment, Teddy stuck his toes in his mouth and sucked.

Harry redressed him in his pajamas and pulled a bottle out of the bag. “Let’s go,” he said, expertly cradling the baby in one arm and holding the bottle with the other so Teddy could eat.

()()()()

Not wanting Mrs. Tonks to worry if she went into the Burrow to check on her grandson, Harry found her chatting with Professor Slughorn and told her he would watch Teddy for a while. Then he and Ginny made their way towards the bonfire, where it seemed most of the DA had gathered.

“Oh, is that Professor Lupin’s baby?” Parvati and Padma Patil came over at once.

“Yes, this is Teddy.” Harry shifted him to give them a better look. 

“Watch out,” he said as Parvati (he thought it was Parvati—he’d never learned to tell them apart out of their Hogwarts uniforms) bent over Teddy, her long black hair falling forward. “He likes to grab things.”

Parvati flipped her hair behind her shoulder, but with his late-night snack secured by Harry, Teddy reached a free hand up towards the shiny gold hoop earring exposed by her movement. Parvati caught the tiny fist before it reached its target and kissed it. Teddy smiled around the nipple in his mouth, and his hair turned black as midnight.

“He must really like you,” Ginny said. “Mrs. Tonks says he can turn his hair lots of different colors, but the only time he seems to do it on purpose is with Harry.”

Harry tried not to look too pleased.

“Or black is simply the easiest color,” Luna said. “He’s a voracious eater, isn’t he?”

Indeed, the bottle was half-empty, and as everyone crowded around them, Harry took advantage of Teddy’s distraction to flip him over his shoulder. Teddy gave a small burp almost immediately.

“I’m so glad you get to be godfather to him, Harry,” Luna said. “I know your godfather was in Azkaban when you were little, and it was dreadfully sad when he died.”

Ginny glared at her, but Harry didn’t mind. He had got used to Luna’s frankness long ago.

“Thank you. Would you like to hold him?” 

“Oh, well, I—“

He extended Teddy towards her. “Just mind his head.”

Luna took the baby with one hand under each armpit and held him over her shoulder. Facing away from them, Teddy began to fuss. Luna’s silvery eyes widened.

“It’s okay, just turn around,” Ginny said. “He’ll calm down if he sees Harry.”

Luna pivoted gracefully, and Teddy gave a big, toothless smile at the sight of him. Harry beamed back at his godson as everyone laughed.

“How old is he?” Neville asked, holding out one finger for the baby to grasp and helping him to wave at Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones.

“Four months,” Harry said.

“Oh, he’s darling!” Susan said, smoothing his hair.

“Ginny, help me!” Teddy squirmed in Luna’s arms.

“Here, I’ve got him.” Ginny settled Teddy in the crook of her elbow, and Harry handed her the half-full bottle. Teddy gave her an adoring look.

“I think he likes _you_ ,” Padma said.

“He looks that way at anyone who feeds him, even Ron,” Harry said dryly.

“Merlin, Ginny, you sure work fast.” Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas joined the group, along with the Ravenclaw boys in their year.

She rolled her eyes. “Harry and I haven’t been together long enough for me to have a baby, Seamus.”

He winked. “Notice she doesn’t protest the underlying assumption, just the timeline.”

“Shut up, Seamus.” Harry slipped his arm around her waist.

The others laughed nervously, but Ginny focused on keeping the bottle in Teddy’s mouth and didn’t reply. 

“What are you doing in September, Harry?” Hannah said brightly. “Are you coming back to Hogwarts?”

He shook his head. “Ron and I are joining the Auror Academy.”

“But training has already started,” Luna said.

“Ron and I got an extension. I would have got one for you too, mate, if I had known you were interested.” Harry nodded to Neville.

“And I would have accepted,” Neville said. “They’ve given me the week off to sit my N.E.W.T.s, but I think they might be more work than the Academy.”

“Why they decided to do them all in one week instead of two, I will never understand,” Susan said. “I’m hardly going to sleep at all.”

“One of you should have said something,” Ginny said. “We could have scheduled the party for another weekend.”

“Nah, this way we get to celebrate twice,” Michael Corner said with a grin. “Once before and once after.”

“Has anyone seen Ron?” Harry said, looking round the garden. “Or Hermione?”

The group laughed.

“Not for a while. Did you check the food table?”

“Find one, and you’ll find the other.”

“Here they come.”

“Where have you two been?” Ron demanded, licking marshmallow from his fingers. “Bill and Amy want to see everyone cast their Patronus.”

“Inside,” Ginny said promptly, shooting a quick glance at Harry.

He wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her closer, knowing she was winding her brother up.

“Just now?” Sure enough, Ron’s ears turned red. 

“I keep telling you, Ron, don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to,” Hermione said. “Here, have a stick.” She held one out to Ginny.

Harry took Teddy and the empty bottle so Ginny would have a free hand.

“The boys brought some food over for toasting.” Hermione indicated a spread of food on the other side of the bonfire, but before they could head that way, someone called Harry’s name.

“Potter, there you are!” Judging from the high color in his cheeks, his wide smile, and his louder-than-usual voice, the Firewhisky in Bill’s hand was not his first—or second. “Dean tells me you taught everyone in Dumbledore’s Army to cast a Patronus.”

“That’s right.”

“That’s N.E.W.T. standard, that is,” Bill said suspiciously. “I’ve met curse breakers who had trouble with that spell.”

“They didn’t have Harry to teach them,” Ginny said.

He smiled at her. She was staunchly loyal, his Ginny.

“Over there,” Bill said, waving his hand towards the other side of the bonfire, where a line of people had formed facing the open field beyond the Burrow. “I want to see this.”

A skirmish on the other end caught Harry’s attention. Lee and Angelina were trying to pull George into line, but he shook them off and strode into the darkness. Ginny made to follow, but Angelina caught her eye and shook her head. Harry heard Ginny sigh and squeezed her hand. It was hard to watch George struggle; he couldn’t imagine what the pain was like for Ginny.

“He’ll be okay,” Harry said. Empty words, he knew, but he felt he should say something. 

She nodded and allowed Harry to lead her towards the bonfire. They filled in the empty space Bill and Ron had left for them and Harry, still balancing Teddy on one hip, called, “Ready everyone? On three—one, two, _three_!”

“ _EXPECTO PATRONUM_!”

The roar of sound drew the attention of everyone in the garden, the orchard, and the pond, and a cluster of pearly-white light put the lampposts to shame. Harry saw a horse, a Jack russell terrier, an otter, a boar, a fox, a toad, a hare, a cougar, and other animals flying, running, crawling, and hopping alongside his own stag.

“We’ve never conjured them both at the same time, have we?” Harry said, watching his stag sniff at the neck of Ginny’s mare, who tossed her mane and stomped one forefoot.

“We must not have. I’ve seen Ron’s terrier and Hermione’s otter chase each other before, but—aww, look! They like each other.” The two rubbed noses even as their light began to fade.

“I wonder why that is,” Bill said dryly, and Harry and Ginny laughed.


	42. Chapter Forty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it! If you've made it this far, I would really appreciate hearing your thoughts on the story and especially if there's any interest in a second fic covering Ron and Hermione's summer. Thank you!

The Weasleys celebrated the last day of summer with another family dinner. Even George had come, and as far as Harry could tell, he was sober. George had chosen a seat beside Ginny and kept trying to slip her various sweets from the shop. He was being very obvious about it, and his antics kept her in giggles throughout the meal. Harry was grateful for the distraction; if he had to think about this being their last dinner together until Christmas break, he wouldn’t have eaten at all. Mrs. Weasley called for help to clear the table, and Harry leaned close to Hermione.

“Come inside for a minute,” he said. “I have something I want to show you.”

She looked surprised but didn’t hesitate. “All right.”

Harry led her inside the Burrow and all the way up the stairs to Ron’s attic bedroom. It was completely bare except for a bed, a camp bed, a chest of drawers, an empty wardrobe, and two rucksacks. Harry and Ron had moved their things into their new flat several days ago but were spending tonight at the Burrow to see the girls to King’s Cross in the morning.

“Wow,” Hermione said. “This is the cleanest I’ve ever seen this room.”

Harry grinned. “That’s because Ron’s not living in it anymore.”

“Feels strange, doesn’t it?”

“A bit,” he admitted. “But it’s a good kind of strange.”

Hermione smiled back. “Yes, it is. Is this what you wanted to show me? Ron’s room, finally clean?”

“No.” Harry cleared his throat, then moved his rucksack from his camp bed to the floor. “Here, sit down.”

Hermione sat and looked up at him expectantly. 

“I, er—I won’t be able to celebrate your birthday with you this year, but I wanted to give you your gift in person, so I thought I’d give it to you early.” He began walking back and forth in front of her.

“Oh, Harry, you don’t have to—“

“Don’t interrupt me, please.” He paused to look at her, then continued pacing when she nodded. “I’ve spent a lot of time this summer thinking about what I could get you because you’re special and you mean a lot to me.”

“Harry—“

He frowned at her and she smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“So I—I did this.” He bent over, pulled an envelope out of his rucksack, and handed it to her.

Hermione looked at him with wide eyes, then opened the unsealed flap and pulled out two sheets of parchment. Harry had braved Diagon Alley to visit the stationery shop and bought some really nice blue-gray parchment and a bright blue ink, Hermione’s favorite color. He had written out what he wanted to say on regular parchment and then copied it several times to get it flawless. He watched her face as she read and saw her smile, then nod.… Her expression stilled as her eyes flew back and forth over the words. She covered her mouth with one hand and turned the page, blinking back tears to keep on reading. There wasn’t much of the letter left, and Harry was pretty sure what her reaction would be when she finished it, so he stood still and braced himself. 

He wasn’t disappointed.

Hermione set down the letter and threw herself into his arms, crying in earnest now. Harry wrapped his arms around her back and rested his chin on her shoulder, thinking of the first time she had hugged him. The first time he could remember anyone hugging him.

“I love you too,” she said. “Thank you, Harry.” She stepped back and he released her. 

“It was okay?” That might be the first thing he’d ever written for which Hermione didn’t have a suggestion for improvement.

Hermione sniffed and gave him a watery smile, running a finger under each eye. “It was perfect. I’ll keep it for always. Thank you.”

“I’ve wanted to say that for a long time, but I didn’t know how.”

“I know. I knew you couldn’t say it, and I understood, so this—“ She took a deep breath, wiped her damp hands on her jeans, and picked up the letter, tucking it carefully into its envelope. “This was perfect.” She looked down at the envelope, then back up at him. “I, um—I wanted to ask…”

“Anything,” Harry said, wondering why she was turning pink.

“May I—may I borrow your Invisibility Cloak?”

“To take to Hogwarts?” Harry said slowly, not keen on the idea.

“No! No, I don’t need to keep it, just…” She bit her lip, turning pinker still. “Just … for tonight.”

“Oh! Well….” He’d had plans for the Cloak, himself. Plans Hermione seemed to anticipate.

“I thought if I had it before bedtime, then I could wear it up here, and we could trade, and you could bring it back to me in the morning, and that way neither of us would be seen.”

Harry leaned against Ron’s wardrobe and grinned at her. “Have I told you lately that you’re brilliant?” 

()()()()

Ginny fidgeted in the center of her bedroom. Hermione had left under Harry’s Invisibility Cloak only a couple of minutes ago, and already Ginny had moved from the bed to her desk to here and was contemplating the bed again when the doorknob turned. The door opened, stilled, and closed again without making a sound. Then Harry appeared from nowhere as a puddle of silvery gray materialized on the floor.

He stared at her, from the hair unbound and loose around her shoulders, to her breasts spilling over the nightdress’s scooped neckline, to the yellow knickers visible through the faded floral fabric and the tattered lace hem at the top of her thighs. She shifted, resting one foot on top of the other, still not used to being stared at so intently, with so much … deliberation.

“Is that—“ He cleared his throat. “Isn’t that the nightdress—“

“I should have worn something else. Something newer.” Something nicer than a childhood rag, even if it was what she wore last summer when she was deliberately trying to attract his attention.

But Harry shook his head before she even finished speaking. “No,” he said, his voice still husky as he moved towards her. “No, this is perfect. Do you have any idea how many nights I spent dreaming about this exact moment?”

Ginny’s breath hitched. Harry had never spoken about dreaming about her before. She picked up her wand and pointed it at the door.

“ _Colloportus. Muffliato_.”

He gave her a questioning look and she nodded. “We’re safe.” She had already done the contraception charm.

He took her in his arms, pushing her hair back from her face. “I don’t want to talk about tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

In the soft light from her lamp, his eyes were a dark forest green. Ginny reached up, removed his glasses, and set them on her desk. Harry cupped her face in his hands (he was much better now at judging how far away she was without his glasses) and kissed her. She returned the kiss, breathing in the smell of his skin, relishing the warmth of his mouth and the softness of his lips against hers. He slid his fingers under the strap of her nightdress, but it was too tight to slide over her shoulder. She pressed her mouth more firmly against his before breaking the kiss, grabbing the skirt and pulling it over her head, where it promptly got stuck. Ginny wiggled and struggled for a minute, then stopped, trapped with both arms over her head and the fabric over her face.

Harry laughed even as he tried to help.

“Why can’t this ever go right?” she said. “How hard is it to get undressed?” 

“It goes all right most of the time,” he said. “Hold still, would you? You’re making it worse.”

“Just rip it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not wearing this thing again, and I want out of it.”

She felt his hands move to her right side near her elbow, and with one sharp pull, the nightdress fell away. She took a full breath. “That’s better. Thanks.”

“Much better,” Harry said, sliding his hands down her exposed sides.

“You’re overdressed.” She tugged on the hem of his shirt (which cleared his head much easier than hers had done), took his hand, and led him to her bed. She crawled under the covers, and he removed his trousers before joining her. It was a snug fit in her single bed. “Do you want to make the bed wider?”

He rolled on top of her, grinning. “We don’t need more room than this.”

Ginny laughed, wrapping her legs around his, enjoying his weight pressing her into the mattress. His face was close enough that she knew he could see her clearly. “Not at the moment, but I don’t particularly fancy sleeping with you on top of me.”

“You can sleep on top of me then.”

“How chivalrous.”

“I thought so.” 

Their voices faded as the little kisses flowed into deeper ones, and Harry shifted to cup her left breast in his hand, moving slowly around the curve before brushing his fingers over the tip. Ginny arched into his touch. 

“Yes?” 

“Yes,” she hissed, digging her fingers into the firm flesh of his backside. “Do it—again….”

Harry complied before trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses down her neck and onto her chest. She could hear her heart racing in her ears, feel the heat low in her belly magnified by the feel of him pressing into her, and waited. They had only done this a handful of times; there was never enough time, always the pressure of getting back to the house before it became too late, but tonight they had all night. All night until the early morning hours, all night when everything wasn’t happening for the first time and— She gasped. 

He had stopped teasing, stopped connecting freckles with his tongue, and kissed her breast. She slid her hand into his hair and pulled him closer.

It took a moment for him to figure out a comfortable position where he wouldn’t squash her or fall out of the bed, but then he was doing it again, kissing one breast and stroking the other. Her eyelids fluttered shut with a moan. He lavished attention on her breasts, stroking and sucking for long minutes until she slid her hands under the waistband of his pants and pushed. 

Harry got the message, sitting up and pulling them off, then removing her own knickers. He moved his hand between her legs, and Ginny scrabbled for his free hand, for something to hold on to as the slow build-up began to catch up with her. It was easier to relax into his touch now after nearly three weeks of practice, easier to let the sensations overwhelm her. She closed her eyes and let the tension build, winding tight before breaking over her in a delicious rush … but without the usual relief.

“Now, Harry,” she gasped, reaching for him. “I want you now.”

He moved over her but paused with one hand high on the inside of her thigh. “You’re sure?”

“Yes! For Merlin’s sake, you don’t have to ask every bloody time!” She was nearly crying with frustration, drunk on adrenaline, buzzing in every part of her body, until…. She sighed, running her hands over his back and sides. It didn’t hurt at all now to have him inside her, to feel the stretch and delicious fullness.

His forehead dropped to hers. “You feel so good,” he managed.

Ginny hummed her agreement and tried to hold still, to give him time to gain control, but her nerves were raw and sensitive, and she wanted— She turned Harry’s face towards her and kissed him fiercely, pouring out all the emotion and anxiety she felt about leaving into one intense, passionate moment. He returned the kiss, then began to move. She moaned at the friction and crossed her legs behind his back, pulling them even closer.

“Yes, that,” he gasped, thrusting hard.

She matched his rhythm, trying to focus beyond the pleasure to remember everything, because this night would have to last her for months. The exact feel of him, in and over her. The way he bit his lip when she moved just so. His hair still standing on end on one side where she had held him at her breast. The absolute heat of his gaze when their eyes met. The expression that washed over his face just before he shuddered and collapsed in her arms.

Ginny lowered her legs to rest beside his, squirming as the tingling began to fade.

“Move’n a m’nute,” he mumbled into the pillow by her ear.

“No,” she said breathlessly.

“‘m too h’vy.”

She smoothed his hair, relaxing as the warmth and contentment spread up her body. “You’re perfect. I love you.”

“I love you.” Harry kissed her shoulder, then rolled, bringing her with him until she lay draped over his chest, her face buried in his neck, his still-heavy breathing stirring her hair when he spoke.

“That—was—“

Ginny muttered something that would have got her mouth washed out with soap, but she didn’t care. It made Harry laugh, and tonight—this last night—that was all that mattered.

()()()()

Ginny’s alarm clock rang, and Harry shut it off quickly. She was still asleep, curled on her side facing him with one arm bent under her pillow and the other above the sheet, most of her breasts exposed, her bright hair draped across the bed behind her except for a few strands falling over her face. She was so beautiful it made his heart ache, and he missed her already. 

They hadn’t talked about it, a mutual unspoken decision not to mar their last days together with discussion of the future. It was hard for him to be excited about finally starting as an Auror when he knew it meant leaving Ginny. But she would be going back to Hogwarts no matter what he did, and Harry knew deep down he wouldn’t be happy without a goal, some purpose to throw his energy behind. It would be good to have something to do, something to keep him busy and occupied between Hogsmeade weekends.

He trailed one finger along the smooth skin of her cheek, lifting a section of hair before tucking it behind her ear. Still Ginny slept, her even breaths the only sound in the creeping gray-blue light of dawn. He had thought about it in those quiet moments before sleep. Helping rebuild the Ministry, tracking down the remaining Death Eaters, finishing the defeat of Voldemort. Harry was looking forward to expanding his skills, receiving some proper training, living in London with Ron. Ginny had N.E.W.T.s and Quidditch tryouts, and then there would be jobs and family, new friends and relationships, obligations and commitments. 

For everything that had gone wrong in their relationship, for his failure to see her as anything more than Ron’s little sister, for Dumbledore’s death that speeded up the time he had to leave her, for all the worry and fear and struggle and grief of this last year, they’d had a perfect summer. One perfect summer of seeing each other every day, of eating together and playing together and simply living together. Ginny had been right, that night in the orchard months ago, when she had said they would never have an opportunity to spend this much time together again. Even if—even if, someday … maybe they were married, had their own place and their own family, there would be other responsibilities keeping them apart. 

But they would always have this one, perfect, summer, and Harry wasn’t ready to leave it behind. Not quite yet.

“Ginny,” he whispered. “Ginny, wake up.” 

She didn’t stir. He placed his hand behind her neck and kissed her softly. Even in sleep, she hummed and nuzzled closer to him, and Harry had to swallow hard to clear the sudden lump from his throat.

“Wake up, Ginny.”

“Mmm?” Sleepy brown eyes blinked unseeingly at him.

“It’s almost time,” he said, and he saw her eyes clear as she remembered what day it was. 

They didn’t talk after that; there was no need. One last “I love you” and Harry dressed, swung the Invisibility Cloak over himself, and left her room.

()()()()

“Here are your lunches,” Mum said, handing a brown paper bag to Ginny and another to Hermione. “Just two this year.” She smiled, but Ginny could tell Mum was more upset about her last child’s last train ride to Hogwarts than she was letting on. 

Platform Nine and Three Quarters was crowded and busy as usual, and people, pets, and parcels swirled around them.

“We’ll write after the feast,” Ginny promised. “It’s going to be fine, Mum.” She held on a little longer than usual, until she felt her mother’s grip relax, before stepping back. 

Ron and Hermione had stepped behind a signpost, but Harry waited beside the door that led to the compartment where she and Hermione had already stored their trunks, Arnold, and Crookshanks. Ginny took his hand and looked over her shoulder for a semi-private place, but Harry didn’t move.

“Don’t forget about me,” he said.

She laughed. “That’s my line. You’re the one with a fan club.” They were here, too; not just people pointing and repeating his name too loudly, but the press with their sharp eyes and flashing cameras.

“You’re drawing a lot of attention,” he said with a slight frown over her head. “You always have.”

“Yes, because everyone wants to know who’s the ginger runt with Harry Potter,” she said dryly. 

“Let’s show them, shall we?”

And before she had time to blink, he bent and kissed her. Not an ordinary “there are people around” kiss, either. More of a “this is the witch I love” kiss. Ginny’s head spun, she floated above the crowd … the train whistle sounded far, far away….

“Ginny! You’ve got to board the train! Hermione, it’s time to go!”

Harry broke the kiss and smiled down at her. “I love you.”

Ginny kissed him one more time, quickly, her answering words muffled against his mouth. Then again.

“Ginny!” Both Mum and Hermione were yelling now.

“Go,” Harry said. “I’ll see you in Hogsmeade.”

She swung onto the train as it started to move. Harry closed the door, and she stuck her head out the open window.

“Bye, Ron!” she yelled, waving at him with both hands. “Bye, Mum! I love you!” The platform shrank as the train pulled away from the station, disappearing in a mist of steam. This was it.

Ginny was headed to Hogwarts, and this year, no evil waited there for her.


End file.
